Drowning
by ontara
Summary: When Dean wakes up cold and alone, no idea where he is or how he got there, he needs to hold on until his brother finds a way to save him - or someone else comes to claim him...a bit of hurt/Dean and protective/Sam - read to find out more!
1. Chapter 1

_Alright - here it goes, my second fanfic, and if I ever thought that this was getting any easier, I was so wrong!_

_Still nervous, but what the hell…_

_This story takes place sometime during late season 2…so maybe some minor references up until "what is and what should never be"._

_This fic is solely Sam and Dean, and for some weird reason I cannot seem to write anything without some hurt/Dean in it, so whoever thinks of me as a freak…at least I'm not the only one, then…_

_Some other things I should probably mention: Don't own them…too bad._

_Also, again: English isn't my first language, so please be gentle and forgive my mistakes. _

_Other than that…I hope you enjoy and as always…please let me know what you think!_

Chapter 1

Dean let himself sink lower into the bathtub, allowing the warm water to engulf him and lull his aching muscles to relax.

_Damn, that felt good_.

He waited until the water reached up to his chest, waited until he heard the first soft gurgling sounds as the water reached too high and started disappearing down the overflow at the top of the tub. He stretched out a leg to turn off the faucet, leaned his head back against the small sill surrounding the tub, closing his eyes and found himself drifting off to sleep easily.

It felt like barely minutes later when a sharp bang on the bathroom door jerked him roughly out of his slumber.

"Dean, everything alright in there?" Sam's voice sounded slightly irritated. Maybe laced with a little worry, too. You never knew, they both had been banged around a bit the past couple of days, on another hunt, in another town, but nothing serious. They had been through worse. And besides digging up this freaking grave for nothing for hours tonight, they both seemed to have been in pretty decent shape, just wired and tired. Nothing unusual.

Dean stifled a slight groan, shot a look at his watch which he had placed on the sink, frowning. He'd been in the tub for almost an hour. Oh yeah, Sammy would be so pissed.

"Be right out!" he called out, rubbed at sleep-clogged eyes with wet and wrinkled fingers. He lowered himself even farther into the now slightly cooler water. The tub was too short for him to be able to stretch fully so he propped his legs up on the wall atop the faucet to be able to dip his head under water, closing his eyes and mouth, sinking until only his nose still broke through the surface, allowing him to breath.

As kids he and Sammy had often made bets as to who was going to able to hold his breath longer. He remembered jumping into that lake behind one of their temporary "homes", facing each other, counting to three and then diving under the surface, eyes kept open to keep track of the other as they fought their silent battle. Dean would usually be the one winning, he was the older one after all, had a lot more physical training at that time. Later, when Sam was physically up to him, they had somehow lost the fun in the game.

Dean had to smile at the memory. He should remember to bring the dare up again as soon as they found a decent lake…and some warmer weather, too. Maybe they should head down to Florida or something, find themselves a hunt. After they finished this one. He'd bring it up with Sam later.

He sat up again, reaching for the shampoo and started to rub it into his hair, noticing that the bottle was almost empty. He'd have to remind Sammy to get a haircut some day. The kid was using up way too much shampoo with that thick mop of hair of his.

They'd have to make a run to the pharmacy soon, grab shampoo and some other necessities. As he dunked down into the tub once again, letting the water wash over him he started making a list of what they would need. Some shampoo and toothpaste, medical supplies, too. Bandages and gauze they always needed, used it up far too quickly for his liking, lately. Aspirin and Tylenol and some disinfectant. And while they were at it, there was always space for some Twizzlers and M&Ms. He had seen a CVS when driving into town, he'd make a supply run tomorrow. Right after sleeping for at least twelve hours straight.

Dean reached out with his toes pulled out the chain of the drain, staying down until the water washed out of the tub before getting up and turning on the shower to wash the excess foam off his head and body. He felt a lot better already, muscles still a little sore but loosened up enough to make moving not painful anymore. Again he let the warm spray of the water lull him a little and again he was startled by a heavy bang on the door, less patient this time and Sam's voice was definitely way past worried, heading straight into full on annoyed now.

"Dean, for crying out loud. Are you planning on coming out of there any time soon?"

Dean reached for the almost empty bottle of shampoo, threw it against the door as an answer to Sam's yelling.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah…out in a minute." he muttered under his breath, turning off the water and reaching for a towel to wrap around his waist. Picking up his discarded clothes he unlocked the door and stepped out into the dimly lit, slightly grimy motel-room he was sharing with his brother.

Who currently sat on the chair, a bunch of fresh clothing on the table next to him, giving Dean a very pissed off look.

Dean shot Sam a wide, most innocent grin, dumping his dirty clothes on his bed.

"Dean, what the hell…if you used up all of the hot water I'm going to kill you."

This drew another toothy grin from the older hunter as he grabbed his duffel from underneath the bed.

"I let you hit the shower first because you promised to pick up some dinner if I you got the first turn. Dean, that was over an hour ago…I'm dirty, and tired and starving…"

"…and oh so pissed!" Dean added with a mischievous grin, ducking quickly to avoid being hit by a rolled up ball of Sam's dirty socks.

"Chill, Sammy, would you? I'm on my way in a minute."

Dean turned away from his brother, not able to wipe the smile completely off his face as he sifted through his duffel for some clean, or at least semi-clean clothes. Laundry should be on their to-do list as well.

When he turned back towards the room he realized that Sam was still sitting there, staring at him and he had to work hard on keeping the smile plastered on his face like that. OK, maybe he had taken it a bit too far. Sam did look like hell, sweaty and covered with mud and dirt. And exhausted. Apparently digging up this grave for nothing had done nothing to improve his mood any, either. Dean did feel a sudden surge of guilt seep through him and swung around quickly so Sam wouldn't see it in his eyes. His little brother was so annoyingly good at reading his emotions, it drove him mad sometimes.

"Are you gonna stay and watch me get dressed or what?"

A grunt was the only answer he got to that and finally he heard a chair being pushed back and then the bang of the bathroom door as it slammed shut.

Dean dropped the towel and pulled up his boxers and jeans, quickly dried off his torso before putting on a grey t-shirt and a red shirt on top of that. After lacing up his boots he grabbed his wallet and the car-keys from the nightstand and was about to leave when another grin lit up his face and he retraced his steps back to the bathroom, knocking on the door. When he received no answer he knocked again, harder this time, smiling as he made out a muffled curse and finally the water being turned off.

"What now, Dean…?"

Oh yeah, very pissed indeed.

"Sammy, I'm heading out now…" he chuckled as he heard a string of expletives, clearly directed at him.

He knocked again, only after the water had been turned back on, of course, waiting for the swear-words to ebb off before asking in his most innocent voice:

"You want pizza or Chinese?"

He chose to ignore the words that followed, didn't even hear the water being turned back on as he was already out the door and starting up the Impala to head for the nearest pizza-joint happily humming along to Metallica blaring from the speakers.

XxxXXXxxxXXXxxxXXXxxx

Now, that was weird. More than just weird…very strange or…whatever. He kind of had trouble forming a coherent thought and that in itself was, well, maybe a little strange. Sammy would probably say that it wasn't, come to think of it, but it really was.

Damn, he was cold. He tried to shuffle over, reached for his blankets which he must have struggled off the bed, as usual, but couldn't find them anywhere near his body. Hmmm, now, come to think of it, the bed did feel kind of strange too, far too hard, even for the run down mattress he was sure this kind of motel would provide. Plus it smelled funny. He wasn't really sure that he wanted to find out why it did though… No, definitely not, but still it did smell…kind of earthy… musky?

And again, damn, he was cold. Plus, he was pretty sure that he had just opened his eyes but it was still far too dark in the room, even though being face first on the smelly mattress and all, he was pretty sure that the room should be considerably lighter than this.

He turned his head around, winced at the apparent kink in his neck.

Oh, just great. When exactly had he fallen asleep on the floor, by the way? Because that was definitely not a bed he was currently lying on. He couldn't even remember coming back to the motel last night after picking up the food. Hell, he didn't even remember picking up the food, let alone eating it. The last thing he did remember was teasing Sammy a bit. He had to smile at the memory, only to find out that smiling hurt, kind of.

Now what the hell?

Dean shifted his body around, felt something solid against his back. He pushed himself up into a sitting position, brought a hand up towards his face to feel his left temple, which was apparently the source of his headache. Had he noticed that before? Maybe he had gone out last night? Could be that Sammy had been so pissed at him that he had gone out and gotten thoroughly drunk and then passed out somewhere…

Well, he usually didn't get drunk that badly, especially not when in the middle of a hunt…but it certainly would explain a couple of things.

OK, so that had to be it. Gotten drunk, dropped somewhere to sleep it off. Maybe he'd gotten in a fight too, because his left side felt a little funny. Not really badly injured, but a little off. It was just too dark to really assess the damage properly right now. Besides, his thoughts were still too muddled to set his priorities at the moment.

He had now come to the conclusion that his eyes indeed were open, after a couple of minutes of just sitting there and working against the nausea that threatened to push up past his composure he was able to make out the outlines of…well, mainly just walls. Rough brick walls surrounding him. Not a lot of space, if he judged the distance right. Taking that there was a wall just like it behind him against his back he appeared to be surrounded by four solid walls, rough brick, mouldy and moss-covered in places.

OK, definitely weird.

He massaged his temples for a minute, eyes closed until reopening them, checking again.

Nope, nothing had changed.

OK, so this needed to be checked out. Now. He pushed himself to his feet, was satisfied enough that it seemed to be working just fine. So he really couldn't have been _that_ drunk, that usually felt different. His shoulder hurt, his whole left arm plus his side and when he reached out to check he realized that he had somehow lost both his shirt and his jacket, only wore his t-shirt anymore. That would explain the cold, anyway. It was still too dark to see and he decided to leave the apparent injuries for later, find out where exactly he was instead.

He trailed along the wall, fingers tracing over the plaster to find a crack, a door, something.

There was nothing.

All four walls seemed to be solid, no opening. OK, so how in hell was that possible? The room seemed to be about six to seven feet in length and just as wide. Just about long enough to let him stretch out all the way if he lay down. He stared up towards the sky, or at least where the sky was supposed to be, according to the laws of nature.

Nothing.

Or rather, darkness despite a thin line, about as wide as the general size of the room, where a little light seeped through some kind of crack in the ceiling. Yet the light coming through the crack didn't make it all the way to the bottom of his prison.

That was the moment he felt a slight tingle of panic creep first down, then up his spine again, making the fine hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

He circled the room again, then another time, just for good measure, his paces more frantic now, hands running first at shoulder level, then reaching down to check again at knee level. That was when he found it. Way down, almost at the bottom there was some kind of change in the texture of the wall and closer scrutiny revealed some sort of door, apparently.

But his initial high at the find was immediately smashed again as he realized that this so called door was first of all way too small for him to fit through, and, second of all, it was too small because it was covered almost all the way up to the top with earth or whatever else that made up the floor of this room. All that was left of the door was about fifteen inches in height of the top end with a small window in the middle, about as high as his foot, about the same width too. He could feel hinges on the right side of the door, but of course, they would open inwards, not outwards. No way of pushing the door open from his standpoint.

So this was definitely not the way he had gotten in. Not the way he'd get out of there, either.

Again he glanced up, again fighting down the initial panic. The room or cellar or shaft or whatever was pretty deep. It was hard to tell with the darkness, he couldn't really judge the height. But it appeared to be at least twenty feet, probably more.

Dean feverishly racked his brain on how the hell he had gotten himself into this mess. He didn't remember anything after…after he'd left Sammy to get some food.

He didn't think he'd made it to the restaurant, remembered driving by the cemetery they had both abandoned only about two hours before, where they had dug up the grave of Isabella Thorne. Her ghost had supposedly hunted and killed several young men of the town over the past six months now, had somehow grabbed them to be found a week later in an abandoned part of the graveyard. Cause of death with all the victims seemed to have been drowning, even though they had all been found on dry land, nowhere near any water at all.

So Sam and he had done some research, had found out where Isabella was buried, dug up her grave. A simple salt and burn, that's what it was supposed to be, what they had both expected. It hadn't quite turned out that way when they found Isabella's grave empty. Her coffin there, but no body in it. That's when they had decided to close the grave again, get back to the motel, get some rest and a decent shower, then do some more research to find out where the hell her body could have gone to. Not easy and definitely frustrating, which explained some of Dean's unbearable behaviour and Sam's grumpiness.

It still didn't explain this.

So, OK, something must have happened on the way to pick up dinner. He thought he distinctly remembered something, he couldn't quite put his finger on, but he thought he had seen something out of the corner of his eyes…in the cemetery parking lot? Had he stopped to check it out?

"My baby better be Ok, or else…whoever or whatever did this is SO going to pay…"

His voice sounded foreign, hollow somehow in the surroundings, echoing off the walls and coming right back at him. Again he cast his eyes upwards, trying to judge the distance anew. It momentarily struck him that the sight above reminded him of that movie Sammy and he had watched just a couple of weeks ago…he just couldn't quite remember the name…what had it been?

Oh yeah, _The Ring_…how could he have forgotten? That illuminated circle which turned out to be the hatch of a well that this girl had been dropped into. The ring being all she saw till she died.

He shuddered involuntarily as it stuck him how much like that his own situation looked right now. Despite the fact that his "ring" was not actually a ring but a rectangle, but that didn't really make much of a difference, did it?

Automatically he reached into the waistband of his jeans, checking for his handgun, but of course coming up empty. Again he couldn't quite remember if he had left the gun at the motel or if it had been taken from him. Considering that he had just gone out to grab some pizza, it was probably the first, though. Right now that didn't comfort him very much, and the reference to "the ring" didn't quite help to put his mind at ease either. That reminded him to check for his cell but he wasn't really surprised anymore when he came up empty as well.

Ok, so this was not just some crash after one beer too many, this was something else entirely.

Unconsciously he checked around once more before again concentrating on the task at hand. He had to get out of here. And damn, was he cold, freezing. He wrapped his arms around his torso, again wincing as his left side stung violently at the touch. His fingers found torn fabric and underneath he felt the unfortunately very familiar feel of dried blood. He carefully traced the bruising, skin ripped and peeled off in places and found that it ran all the way from shoulder to elbow, then moving over to his side and down to his left hip before the much thicker fabric of his jeans apparently had stopped further damage to skin and flesh.

Some prodding and poking revealed that at least nothing seemed to be broken, he was sore and freezing but all in all he had been through a lot worse.

Ok, so this was settled. What next? Oh yeah, get put of here, and quick.

He paced the length of his prison, trying to figure out a way to get out. Even this close up scrutiny of the walls didn't reveal anything in the ways of a ladder or rope or other means of escape. He ran his fingers over the wall again, found shallow impressions between the single stones and figured that this was, unfortunately, his only choice right now.

He rubbed his fingers over his jeans, dried them off as good as possible so the frail hold he had on the stones would not slip through his fingers, so to speak. Then he figured that he would have a much better hold on the bricks without his blunt boots on. So, with a heavy heart because his feet really were cold enough as it was, he took them and his socks off too. With that done he searched for the deepest recesses in the wall and started climbing.

This was really so much harder than he had thought it would be. His fingers hardly found real grip on the slippery surface, his toes faring even worse than that. The fact that he was still shivering with cold, his muscles only slowly warming from the physical exercise didn't help at all and his banged up side didn't help to make this any easier as well.

Still he made it almost halfway up the wall before suddenly the toes of his right foot slipped. He held on desperately, nails splintering as he slowly lost his grip on the damp surface. He struggled desperately to regain his footing, to find leverage again, but it was no use. The momentum plus the sudden extra pull on his fingers became too much within seconds and he slithered, tumbled down the mossy incline, fingers, palms and chest scraping over the rough surface, desperately grabbing for hold but of course not finding any.

He hit the floor with a dull thump, a crack and a painful smash on the side of his head and he must have been temporarily knocked unconscious because when he came to again the blood on his head had already started to dry, leaving a crusted and cracked layer from his temple down over his ear and on over his throat.

_Oh just freaking great._

He groaned, rolled over onto his side, stayed curled up for a while, trying to steady himself, to work that damn hitch out of his laboured breaths. After a couple of minutes he again started the arduous task of assessing the damage that had been done.

This was so not fun anymore. Hadn't been, ever, to be honest, but now it really started to piss him off.

He thought that his right hand felt kind of funny – maybe he had cracked something there, maybe a rib or two, as well. Still nothing felt broken…Ok, on second thought, maybe the arm. Jeez, it actually hurt pretty badly, the way it had been twisted underneath his fallen body. Dean ran his left hand over the throbbing limb, hissing as he touched swollen, tender flesh.

There was a golf-ball-sized lump an inch or two below the wrist, a second one halfway down the arm. Definitely broken, and not a clean break, from the look of it. The dull ache that radiated thought the whole lower limb quickly picked up force, developed into a full on stabbing pain that spread up and down the whole arm in no time. But that he could deal with, would have to. He was pretty good in blocking out pain, always had been, up to a certain point. Still he decided that climbing up that wall was something he wasn't going to try again, at least not in the near future. He might, later on, once he got desperate enough.

Maybe he should try calling for help? He had no idea where exactly he was, but calling out for help couldn't hurt any, right? Besides attracting the ghost or spirit or whatever had gotten him into this mess, and he was almost sure now that he had actually fallen victim to something supernatural, but that would maybe be a good thing? Then again, maybe not, him being weapon less right now. Still he had to try something. You never knew. Someone might be walking by at just this moment…his brother might be looking for him by now.

Sammy.

Dean checked his watch – why hadn't he thought of that earlier? – and realized that he had left the motel about five hours ago. Give or take. But either way, Sam would be worried by now, definitely out looking for him, too. The only problem being that of course his brother didn't have a car, so it would take him a bit longer to find his way around. All figuring that he was still in the closer vicinity of the town, of course. Which he hoped, really hoped, he was.

How else was he ever going to get out of here?

xxxXXXxxxXXXxxxXXxxxx

_Alright, so that's the first chapter. Thanks for taking the time to read and I hope someone likes it and I get the chance to post the next chapter…_

_So please let me know what you think…but remember to be gentle – I'm just so fragile ;-)_


	2. Chapter 2

_Ok, thanks to everyone for the wonderful reviews…hope you'll enjoy this chapter as well!_

Chapter 2

When Dean was gone for an hour, Sam got pissed. More than before, anyway.

After another one, he started getting worried.

Another thirty minutes and about twenty-five calls to his brother's cell that had gone straight to his mailbox later, Sam started to loose his composure. Slowly, but he was getting there.

Somehow he knew, beyond any doubt now, that this was not some kind of sick joke anymore. He'd been willing to believe just that until about two hours had passed. Dean wanting to tease him a bit, maybe, or maybe he had picked up some woman, had forgotten the time in a bar… But then he'd have answered his phone by now. And there was simply no chance in hell that his big brother would take some kind of joke this far.

It was some kind of an unspoken rule between them. Even the most cruel joke was to be ended after two hours at the most. They didn't just disappear on one another, not on purpose, unless, of course, something supernatural was involved. Sam cringed at the thought of the last disappearing act he had pulled off and that really hadn't ended all that well, had it? Dean had been shot – by him, his little brother, to top it off. No, they just didn't pull that shit on each other, not for fun. Dean knew that, he wouldn't scare his brother like that, no way.

Sam was pacing the motel room, chewing his nails absentmindedly, thinking – trying to think, to form a plan of action. Dean had said he'd gone out to get some food. This was as good a place to start as any, his only lead anyway.

He grabbed the phonebook from the nightstand, flipped through the pages. Since that didn't get him very far he picked up the motel's phone, dialled through to the front office and got the sleepy and probably doped up kid from the night shift to give him the names and addresses of the nearest restaurants and diners and, as an afterthought, the closest bars as well.

Since Dean had taken the Impala he grabbed some weapons, stuffed them into his duffel, pocketed the phone and took off on foot, jogging all the way to the first place, a Chinese take out a mile down the road. Nobody there recognized Dean from his description so he moved on to the bar a couple of blocks away, going straight for the female bartender, giving her a description as well. From the way she looked at him with that flirtatious smile he knew that she couldn't have met his brother or else he would have most definitely hooked up with her right away. Not an opportunity to be turned down.

The next two places, some Turkish place and a burger joint didn't give him a hit either, the third place was closed already and he was about ready to turn back to figure out something else, because he sure as hell could not go running around all night long, when suddenly he spotted the Impala. His heart almost stopped at her sight, tucked away all the way at the back of the almost abandoned parking lot across the street, partially hidden by some dumpsters and a pile of discarded trash bags next to them.

Sam sprinted over, slowing down once he approached the car. He looked around carefully, made sure no one was watching him and eased the gun out of the waistband of his jeans, released the safety catch, just in case. The car was empty. No Dean, not in the front seat nor the backseat. Not stashed away in the trunk either, thank god. Sam did a quick sweep of the hidden compartment underneath the false floor of the trunk and found that nothing seemed to be missing either.

He unlocked the driver's door with his own set of spare keys, slipped into the seat, did another closer rundown of the interior of the car and stopped dead in his tracks. Right there, in the space between the front- and the backseat lay Dean's jacket, crumpled up on the floor, phone and wallet tucked away in the pocket, the red over-shirt he had prepared to wear when Sam had hit the bathroom balled up underneath. After a few seconds of mystified silence Sam finally grabbed the pieces of clothing, inspected them closely. No signs of a fight, no blood, no rips in the fabric, nothing. Plus Dean's favourite gun and knife were both stashed away inside the glove compartment.

The car had been parked and locked up carefully, no sign of Dean leaving in a haste or panic. And if he'd been hunting something, he'd have definitely taken at least his gun with him, not to mention his knife. He never went anywhere without it, didn't even sleep without it underneath his pillow.

Sam was completely at a loss. Where the hell had Dean gone to? He got out of the car again, checked his surroundings some more. No traces of sulphur in and around the car. So no demon involved as far as he could tell. Why the hell had his brother stopped here, of all places? There was nothing here…except… A couple of feet to the right of the car a small overgrown trail led away from the dark parking lot, disappearing between the thick tees of the bordering forest. Or so he thought.

He took the big flashlight out of the trunk, hefted his duffel and took off down the path. After following the narrow trail for about ten minutes he suddenly broke through into a clearing and realized with a start that he had made it to the same graveyard they had been excavating in earlier that night.

As a matter of fact, this was very close to the spot where the bodies of those unfortunate men had been found, the victims of Isabella Thorne's ghost. A chilling feeling of foreboding and utter fear for his brother rushed through Sam and he had to work hard on keeping his breathing even, to force his hands to stop shaking. The flashlight he had used to get through the dark trail was still in his hand and he let it sweep slowly across the ground in front of him, the beam trembling ever to slightly as it slid soundlessly over gravestones and markers, statues of angels and crosses of different sizes and in various stages of disrepair.

When his first sweep turned up nothing he relaxed a little, forced himself to calm down and began walking around the perimeter of this oldest part of the cemetery, checking behind every stone, every tree, under every bush he came across.

Still no sign of Dean.

His breath clouded in front of his nose and mouth as the chill of the night crept up on him, a slight fog covering the ground in this eerie way that every single cemetery ever shown on TV seemed to be engulfed in. Things like this didn't usually faze Sam anymore, he'd spent far too much time in places like this, in the middle of the night, digging up graves, burning bodies, performing exorcisms and spells. Only that usually he didn't roam around one, alone, looking for his missing brother. Usually Dean was the one to cover his back at something like this. So yeah, maybe it did freak him out. Just a little bit.

It took him almost an hour but when he had finished checking the entire graveyard he didn't know if he should be relieved or even more worried than before.

His brother wasn't here – no sign that he had ever been, actually.

Sam had checked on Isabella's grave again, made sure that nothing had been disturbed after they had left.

Still he knew, beyond a doubt, that this had to have something to do with her. Just a gut feeling, and he could vividly imagine what his brother would have had to stay about that, but he just simply _knew._ Her ghost had come after Dean. However she had managed it, she had gotten him, taken him somewhere. And Sam knew that if he didn't find his brother soon, Dean's body would be the next to turn up on the grounds, drowned on dry land.

"Dean, damn it. Where the hell are you?"

XxxXXXxxxXXXxxxXXXxxx

He was really, really cold. And hurting, now, after his little fall. He'd never go free-climbing some canyon ever, that he was sure of. It had all looked to much easier on that Stallone-movie. "Cliffhanger", that was the one. _Nope, never going to do that._ Not that he had planned on it before.

Dean had gotten into this little routine now, walking in circles along the walls of this shaft or well for as long as he could, to keep himself warm. He'd usually last about thirty minutes before he had to settle down again, back against the wall, arms wrapped tightly around himself, hands stuffed underneath his armpits. His right hand, the whole arm had swollen up extensively, despite the cold. He could feel the puffy, hot skin reaching from the knuckles up to almost the elbow now. The sharp, throbbing pain was still there, unrelenting, picking up speed and force whenever he got up to pace, rushing in time with his own heartbeat.

His ribs felt like hell, too and he opted on not taking any too deep breaths anymore…made breathing a lot easier to begin with. Coughing wasn't high up on his "_things-to-do-while-down-in-a-freaking-cold-shaft-when-injured-list"_, either.

Other than that, the cold was actually a blessing on his other little injuries, it at least kept the cuts and bruises from bleeding too badly, kept the pain down to a reasonable level.

But besides this little upside, it really didn't feel all that great. He couldn't sit still for more than fifteen minutes or so at a time before having to resume his pacing once again. This almost incessant pacing wearing him out, even more so as they had gotten on the road like what, more than thirty hours ago? Maybe more even and Dean hadn't slept a wink since. Then the strenuous task of digging up that grave and of course, having nothing to eat since breakfast that morning…yep, he could really use a break right about now. A big one. A bed and another shower – a hot one, at least an hour long, Sammy be damned. He wouldn't get out until the water ran cold, that was for sure. And the biggest burger with the biggest serving of fries he could get a hold of. Plus about a gallon of hot coffee. Sammy's treat, to top it off.

Yeah, that sounded about right.

He persuaded himself that claustrophobia was not an issue. Not a big one, anyway. Dean repeated it to himself like a mantra after the first couple of hours down there…_not an issue, not an issue, not an issue…I'm peachy, fine, just great. Nowhere else I'd rather be. _For the moment it seemed to be working OK, kind of. Like, 80 - 90% OK…?!

He was really getting desperate now. How the hell was he supposed to get out of here? The only option left occurred to him about seven hours into his ordeal and again he could have slapped himself for not thinking about it any sooner. Must be the cold, freezing his brain up like that.

Dean crouched down in front of the buried door and started testing the earth in front of it with his fingers, pulling pieces of dirt and stones away from the ground, throwing them behind himself to the opposite wall. It was painfully slow going. He was not able to use his right hand for digging, the swollen limb refusing to work properly, fingers completely useless. The ground was packed hard from probably years and years of piling up in the shaft, being pressed down by rain and who knew what else. But however fruitless his attempts might seem, at least it gave him something to do, something to take his mind off the predicament he was in. And the exercise helped to warm him up a bit, too.

He started humming to himself, some song, the first one that came into his mind. Anything to stay focused, to stay alert. He'd just keep it up until he'd dug his way out or Sammy came to get him…either way.

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Sam drove the Impala around town once, then another time, going through some back alleys and even took her down a dirt road at the outskirts of the town, following a short trail through the woods, through an old dried up riverbed. Dean would _so _have his ass for this, but he didn't care anymore.

The sun was slowly getting up again and still there was no sign of his brother. That was when Sam decided to head back to the motel and resume his research on Isabella Thorne. There had to be something about her somewhere. Maybe he would be able to find out where she was actually buried. If he could dig her up and burn her bones there might be a chance of Dean getting away…from wherever she was holding him. Providing that he still could get away on his own…

OK, this wasn't the time to get all emo over this. He briefly asked himself what Dean would do if the situation was reversed, but he didn't need to think long to know the answer. He could basically hear his brother's voice inside his head, telling him to get a grip and hold himself together.

This was the time for action. After all, his brother wasn't one of Isabella's usual victims. He was an experienced hunter, he'd find a way to stay alive long enough for Sam to find him.

He pulled into the parking space in front of their room, quickly checking in to make sure Dean hadn't come back while he was gone. Then he jogged over to the front office to grab about half a gallon of coffee from the complementary thermos that was stashed there, a hand full of muffins to top it off and returned to the room to do some research.

The adrenaline rush he had felt when he had discovered that his brother had disappeared started to wear off now, leaving him worn and weary. The shower he had taken when Dean had left had done a whole lot towards easing his overused muscles back down, unfortunately it had also brought out the utter exhaustion from too many long hours on the road, folded up in the Impala, doing research on the road to be able to get right to digging up that grave once they got here. Why couldn't it just turn out to be an easy hunt for them anymore?

After hours of research, turning up nothing, Sam felt himself loosing it. Ever single source that he had found just mentioned that damned grave in the old part of the cemetery, supposedly her husband had buried her there himself, had been seen for years to come, laying flowers on her grave once a week.

_Damn it, there had to be something._

It was past noon already and still no lead, whatsoever. And what was even worse, Sam could feel his attention slipping. He'd had no sleep in what, thirty-six hours? Give or take. The quick nap in the Impala didn't really count. Dean had turned up the music extra loud to make sure he himself wouldn't fall asleep, so no sleep for little brother as well.

Sam buried his face in his hands, rubbing viciously to force the sleepy feeling to go away, to keep his eyes from dropping shut. He must have drifted off, probably not for long, but still. Only the awkward angle his body was slumped in the chair prevented him from dropping off completely. Still he'd been out for the better part of an hour and he only jerked awake when the incessant beeping of his laptop penetrated his ears. His forehead had come to rest on one of the keys and now the machine was screaming its protest loud and clear for him to hear.

He cursed himself, again rubbing his eyes viciously, pushing himself away from the table with angry force.

No, sleep was impossible, not with Dean still missing.

He got up, doing a couple of laps around the room, opening the door to let the cooler air from the outside drift inside, went to the bathroom to splash some cold water onto his face. Everything to get his brain to function properly again. Another thermos of coffee might be good – damn the caffeine, it was not really working all that well, but still better than going without.

It was on his way back to the room that the other though occurred to him and he could have kicked himself for not thinking about it earlier.

Another two hours of research, plus a one-hour trip to the local library finally got him his first true lead of the day.

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He woke to his own body shivering, tremors chasing though him with unrelenting force, muscles cramping uncontrollably. There was this deep, bone-marring chill in the room.

He was temporarily disoriented, panicked when not immediately recognizing his surroundings. Not that there was much to recognize, the darkness almost complete. A sharp, white hot pain stabbed through his right arm when he pushed himself upright and that's when he remembered.

Damn, when had he fallen asleep? How late was it, anyway? It was still dark in here, no telling what the time really was and he was definitely not able to read his watch properly. He leaned over gingerly, tested the ground in front of him with his left hand, his right tucked closely to his body, protecting the terribly smashed limb from unnecessary movements. His ribs ached but he was almost positive that those were not broken, cracked for sure, but not broken. He knew the feeling.

His fingers ran over the uneven earth, remembering what he had tried to accomplish here before falling asleep or dropping unconscious or whatever. He huffed in frustration when he realized that all his efforts had practically been fruitless, barely an inch or two scraped off the surface for about the whole widths of the door, a little deeper in front of the window revealing little more of the door and the thick glass of the window. Definitely not leaving enough space for him to crawl through, even if he would be able to break the damn glass, so he could just as well save his strength and leave it whole, then.

Nonononono. Dean hit the door with his fist, grinding his teeth and punching it again out of frustration. Why the hell had he fallen asleep? He should have been working on this, should have been up and aware to get so much farther than this by now. He started clawing at the ground again when it suddenly hit him that something wasn't quite right.

_Well, duh, anything besides waking up in a shaft, no idea how I ended up there, locked up for good?_

But no, this was different, his hunter's instincts kicking in full force. He stopped dead in his tracks, body tensing as he tried to focus all his senses, willed himself to stop shivering, unfortunately not quite succeeding.

He could feel it before actually seeing it, the presence still behind him. He faced away from it, towards the door when he saw the faint glow reflecting in the dirty and smeared glass of the partially hidden window in front of him. His erratic breath clouded in front of his mouth, the cold so thick you were almost able to cut right through it. His hand immediately searched the floor for something to use as a weapon, seconds only before he realized how useless a task that was. He wasn't very likely to find any salt lying around here and throwing an ordinary stone at the apparition probably would only serve to ridicule himself. And just maybe it would piss whoever it was off even more.

Dean straightened himself, movements careful and slow, turned around.

She stood on the far end of the room, basically still melted into the wall, slightly transparent until she took another step forward, out of the wall, turning corporeal.

Isabella Thorne.

They had found a picture of her on one of the websites, an old portrait which had pictured her in her late teens, about a decade before she had died. Still this definitely was her, her features a little more mature, devoid of the baby fat, definitely more attractive even. Her hair was a soft, golden brown, falling down to just above her shoulder blades, held in place by two silver pins on either side of her temples. Her eyes were a deep brown, black almost, huge with long, curved up lashes.

She wasn't very tall, the top of her head reaching only up to Dean's shoulder, but her body had curves in all the right places and she wore one of those pale yellow dresses, gently flowing but just tight enough to show off her perfect figure. Her feet were bare as were her arms from the elbow down and Dean caught sight of a thin, silvery bracelet dangling from her right wrist. The links were delicately carved and each link had a tiny red ruby embedded in the middle of a tightly knit silvery knot.

Why the hell did he notice this, of all things?

She took another step closer and Dean involuntarily retreated until the wall behind him stopped him. Two more steps and she was right in front of him, so close that the icy cloud of his breath blew right in her face.

She looked up at him with those huge, curious eyes and he was momentarily struck by the depth of…something he saw in them, some emotion so deep and intense that it made his heart flutter in sympathy. She reached up with her small bejewelled hand, ran the tips of her fingers over his chest, down his right biceps and lower arm. Dean shuddered, out of ecstasy, but not the sexual kind. It was something so much deeper, more intense even and it filled him with a sort of gratitude and fear at the same time it was almost more than he thought he could take.

She swept briefly over the swollen lower limb, almost tenderly, lacing her fingers through his, suddenly holding on to him ferociously.

Dean barely suppressed a groan at the motion, he couldn't stop her, couldn't move his fingers away from hers, couldn't move further back into the wall. It hurt like hell, but at the same time that he wanted to retreat he also wanted to move into her, hold her, give her something to hold on to, give her stability. An unnatural cold seeped through his skin, up his arm into his shoulder and further down his chest. It wasn't a comfortable, numbing cold but rather a sharp, piercing sensation, intensifying the already present pain there and after barely a couple of seconds he groaned between clenched teeth, attempted to loosen her grip with his good hand.

She held on tightly though and as Dean felt the pain intensify his knees begged to be allowed to give way and it took every last ounce of will to be able to not drop to his knees in front of her. It seemed as if she was draining all the strength out of him, her eyes burning into his with this fierce, feral longing, fingers digging into tender flesh as if intending to tear a piece out of him. For all the longing he still felt towards her the pain now took over, pushed past everything else, blinding his senses.

Her left hand reached up towards his neck and she drew his head down with annoyingly little effort until his forehead rested against her's in an almost frighteningly intimate gesture. How was it that he wanted to kiss her and at the same time push her away for all it was worth?

He tried desperately to even out his breathing, tried not to flinch away from her touch because that only seemed to make her hold on even tighter.

"You came back…"

Her voice was surprisingly deep and hoarse, as if from long lack of use or if she'd just been recuperating from a terrible cold.

Dean almost fell against her when his knees again buckled, as if she needed to draw his strength in order to transport those overwhelming emotions into her voice, her touch. She kept the hold on his neck and moved even closer against him, pressing her cold body against his already freezing one, making him shiver uncontrollably, yet he was unable to draw away. Breathing started to hurt, the cold making drawing in each breath a hassle.

"You will stay with me now…I'll never let you leave me again!"

So much hope and…love in those words that it almost shattered Dean's heart. But there was no way in hell…

"I-It's not like you are giving me much of a choice here…"

She didn't seem to hear, though and to be honest, he would rather choose to ignore the sound of his own voice, hoarse and scratchy, as well right now.

She snuggled closer, tilted her head back and up until her lips brushed against his and again he couldn't pull away, paralyzed by her freezing touch. When she pressed her full yet icy lips hard against his in a desperate, hungry kiss he couldn't help but groan again, working feverishly on bringing up his way too heavy left arm. He still struggled with himself, torn between caressing her, drawing her closer and aching to just grab a hand full of her hair, pull her away from him. Allow himself to breathe again.

He was barely able to but after what felt like an eternity he finally succeeded to reach up towards the back of her head, lace his fingers through the silky strands of her golden hair. He ran numb fingers through them, caressing them almost, shaking with indecision. Then he got a firm enough grip on it and before he could think it over, he gave it a sharp yank, pulling her head back and away from him.

The first seconds of freedom felt like heaven, even though he had to work fiercely on drawing in a steady breath at all. He swayed back against the wall before being able to lever himself out again, heaving as if he'd just returned from a 10k run. The air entering his lungs felt like laced with tiny pieces of ice that stung going down. But still he could breathe, and he was determined to savour the moment as long as he could.

Isabella seemed to be taken completely by surprised by his actions and she moved one step back from him abruptly, stared at him with a completely new emotion edged deeply into those dark pits of her eyes…confusion, hurt. He still had a hold on her hair, swaying, fighting to stay upright while she still held his injured arm in a vice like grip.

"Listen lady…m-maybe we should…talk a little…before we get all personal…"

Her expression changed quickly from vulnerability to pure, unabashed anger and hatred, emotions so fierce that Dean couldn't help but wince, it seemed to stab right into his heart.

Then, suddenly, she was gone, with a slight flicker and a hiss of static her body disappeared and Dean stumbled forward from the sudden lack of leverage her grip had provided him with. He dropped to his knees, cradling his arm against his abdomen, heaving while furiously scanning the once again dark room for any signs of Isabella Thorne's ghost.

She was back in a flash a couple of seconds later, closing in on him with fast, jerking movements that did give you the impression that she was flicking in and out, being closer every time she reappeared and Dean didn't manage to get back to his feet in time so he scooted backwards over the dirt-floor, stumbling over his own haunches until he again was backed up against the wall, nowhere else to go.

OK, this was becoming highly frustrating right about now.

Again she pushed up against him, only the seductiveness from before completely gone now, replaced by a dark menace, her eyes sparkling with fury and hatred as she again grabbed his arm. Only this time there was nothing remotely gentle or caressing to the touch, it was only meant to inflict more pain.

Dean writhed against her grip, thoughts tumbling feverishly around his head. There was nothing, _nothing_ he could do. He had no weapons, no salt, no nothing. How was he going to get her to leave? Maybe it hadn't been the smartest idea to reject a woman's kiss right now, he thought bitterly.

She leaned in on him, twisting his arm painfully and he cried out between bared but clenched teeth, not yet willing to give in to her completely.

Suddenly he was flung across the shaft, slamming forcefully against the opposite wall, coming to rest on the floor in a crumpled heap. He chocked, coughed in agony but she was there again in the beat of a second, some unseen force pulling him upright and back into a sitting position. Blood was cascading down his face, apparently emanating from a deep gash on his left temple, clouding his vision.

He shook his head slightly to clear his sight, winced at the pain the movement caused, almost jumped out of his skin when again Isabella stood right before him, her face only inches away from his, her fingers once more digging into his injured arm. She leaned even closer, her breath chilling his already freezing skin.

Just when Dean thought she was going to kiss him again her head whipped around, came up close to his ear and the words she hissed rang loud and clear in the small confinement of his prison.

"You will not leave me, ever again."

Dean wished he was able to come up with some cocky remark to throw her way, but his mind drew up a blank and when her hand suddenly pressed almost forceful against his chest, right over his heart, he felt a sadly familiar sensation of this vital organ fluttering and failing him once again.

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Sam left the Impala at the front entrance of the estate about an hour outside of town, parked it a little to the side so someone passing by on the road wouldn't see it right away and alert security. He retrieved his duffel and a flashlight from the trunk and made his way along the wall, past the rough iron gate into the untended thicket that flourished along the estate's borders.

He had finally found the address to the place Isabella Thorne had been living at, the last couple of years of her too short life, together with her husband and two kids. The only reason it had taken him so long to find this place was due to the fact that Isabella's husband, James, had only bought the estate the year before her death, all that was ever listed in any of the old documents was the old address.

This here, this was just…wow. The compound had to be huge, beyond huge. Miles and miles of nothing and a then a mansion parked right in the middle of all that nothingness. Currently the area and house were used as a meeting and conference center and while Sam knew that it had been closed down for the past couple of months, due to renovations, he still knew that there was no doubt a whole flock of security bound to be all around.

He didn't quite know how to tackle this, to be honest. The grounds were far too big for him to go searching through by chance only and he really had no clue were to start looking. The house was pretty much out of the question, that much he knew. The whole thing practically torn down and rebuilt at least twice since the Thornes' had moved out, not too long after Isabella's unfortunate demise.

The story was that she had fallen victim to a terrible bout of pneumonia, had been ill for several weeks before dying a slow death, right there at their home, hidden away from the world. There had been some people who were a bit suspicious about the circumstances of her death, but the voices were scarce and far between and the influence Mr. Thorne apparently had in the community served to drown out most of those voices before they got too loud to have any real impact.

The general consensus of the sceptics was that those who had seen Isabella during the weeks prior to her death didn't think of her as looking sick at all. She might have seemed a little distracted, but pneumonia didn't quite sound right, they'd said. Of course there had been the official death certificate from a doctor, but Sam somehow got the feeling that that one could have been faked, too. Money could buy you a lot of things, especially back in the days, especially from people with such a big influence in the community.

He somehow doubted that the doctor had ever even seen Isabella's body.

The fact that there hadn't even been a regular funeral spoke volumes, really. Who the hell would dig in his own wife and mother with nobody there to bear witness? Well, OK, they hadn't really held a big funeral for their own dad, but that was different. Their situation a different one entirely. They had things to loose, things to hide. Maybe that was the reason why Sam had become so suspicious. The Thorne's life had been littered with big festivities and receptions, why the hell would they bail out on that so suddenly, when Isabella died a supposedly tragic but natural death? It just didn't add up.

This whole thing had a wrong feel to it, Sam didn't need to be a psychic to know that. And he was sure that a whole lot of people had felt the same way but just didn't have the courage to speak up. Some one hundred years ago things had been different.

Sam had some of the printed plans of the estate in his backpack and once he had climbed the wall at a particularly accessible spot he paused, hidden behind some bushes, flashlight tucked between his teeth, to study the map once again. Where should he start? Where to bury a body you didn't want to be found? Where to hide one that wasn't quite dead yet – or so he fervently hoped.

There were two ways to have a go at this. One, to find Isabella's corpse, which was more than unlikely, given the sheer size of this place. He could have dug her in anywhere, no way to ever find her. Since the house had been completely renovated twice, Sam doubted that she had been kept anywhere in there. It would be damn hard to go in there and burn the whole thing down, too. That seemed a little harsh, even for the Winchesters. And then there was always the chance that Dean was in there, too, that he burned his own brother along with everything else. So no, not an option, not right now, anyway.

Sam scanned the map, noticing a couple of other structures that seemed to be worth checking out. Some storage sheds, a garden-house, a few garages and tool sheds. Of course those damn things weren't clustered together in close proximity. That would have been too damn much to ask for. Sam cursed some swear words under his breath that would have made Dean oh so proud.

Where to start?

Maybe the tool-sheds first, those were the closest to his current location, then circle around the grounds, going clockwise around the whole compound. That way he'd come back to the gate with one of the garages and the porters-hut last. Those would have been his last guesses anyway, so Sam chose to do it this way. Tucking the map away in his backpack, hefting the flashlight and tucking his shotgun loaded with rock salt into the hem of his jeans, just to be sure. He took off in a slow trot. The cool of the night seeping under his clothes already so the exercise would help to keep him warm. Not going too fast, though, so he'd be able to keep up a more or less steady pace throughout.

He had his brother to find.

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Water, dripping in a steady rhythm, hitting his face, his bare arms, soaking through his t-shirt, his jeans. It sure felt like a dream and since he couldn't, try as he might, get his aching, cold as ice body to react, it had to be. It felt frightfully real, though. He decided to ignore it, prayed that he would be able to just go back to that wonderful state of unawareness that he had been sent to by Isabella's last, heart-stopping touch.

It worked for a while.

How long exactly, he didn't know. Sometime way too soon though, it couldn't be ignored anymore. The dripping had given way to a constant rushing flow, hitting somewhere on his higher back, right between his shoulder blades, a penetrating, icy knife stabbing in there in an unforgiving flow. Still he felt too weak to move away from it, not enough energy left in his body to scoot over a mere couple of inches to escape it.

Besides, only a dream, right? Maybe one of those dying images that flashed through ones head right before…

Shouldn't he be seeing images of his past, then? Of his mom, his dad, Sammy? Relive experiences and moments he had been through? Well, this didn't quite feel like anything he had experienced, ever before. And he had been through his fair share of unusual situations, too many of them, to be honest.

So, maybe, just maybe, this was real after all?

Hmmm, he remember the feeling of Isabella's hand over his heart, making it flutter, this oddly familiar sensation, almost like back in Nebraska. Only that back then it had been fire – electricity and now it was ice. Still, the pain when it hit his heart was the same, breaking it apart – breaking _him_ apart.

But then again, if he had been offed, why was the pain still there? Everywhere, most prominently centered in his head and arm, his chest. Maybe she hadn't finished it, after all. Why, he didn't know and quite frankly, didn't care to find out at the moment, he really just wanted to sleep, get away from the freaking cold.

Only, he was bound to find out, if he wanted to or not.

Merely minutes later he found himself roused again from blessed unconsciousness when he choked, water making its way down his throat upon inhaling, entering his nostrils, tugging at his eyelids. He choked, coughed, only to find that more water entered as soon as he opened his mouth. Frantically he tried clearing his head enough to dig through the initial confusion and panic, this instant fear of dying upon waking up. The constant beating pressure upon his back was still there and now he had the strength to push himself up and away, if only triggered by sheer will of survival.

He was sitting up now, coughing up water so freezing it seemed to burn it's way back up his throat, his hair dripping, eyelashes heavy with droplets of water, wearing them down.

_What the hell?_

The dripping at the beginning he could write off as rain falling through the tiny cracks in the ceiling. This now…it had to be something else. And for some reason he didn't think that it was all natural. He shook his head carefully, still acutely aware of his head injuries, just enough to clear his vision ever so slightly. Not that it was of much use – the dark still almost complete. But it did help clear his head a little as well and that was something he really needed right now.

Ok, so definitely too much water to just come from rainfalls, even a really heavy thunderstorm. He was sitting halfway up his butt in water now and the loud splashing sound from the middle of the shaft suggested that it wouldn't stop rising anytime soon.

_Ah, crap!_

His predicament hadn't really settled, yet. Dean sat there for a couple of minutes, just trying to think, trying to get a grip on reality again. When the water leaped up to his bellybutton, he snapped right into full fledged panic-mode within mere splits of a second.

_Shit. Shitshitshitshitshitshit._

_So not good..._

Frantically he pushed himself up the wall with his back pressed against it, his left hand clawing at the slick bricks for leverage. He was shaking again, or still. Whatever. It didn't really matter because if the water kept rising at this level, it wouldn't make any difference in no time. He panicked, started to hyperventilate. Started to black out. How he knew that he blacked out he didn't know, the darkness still so deep, but it was just a feeling and he simply knew that, would he be able to see properly, there would be black spots dancing in front of his eyes right about now.

_Jesus, get a grip, would you? It's not like this is the first seemingly hopeless situation you've found yourself in, right? Focus on the task at hand…plenty of time to freak out later. Or not..._

He looked up, couldn't make out the source of the waterfall raining down on him. The thin cracks of light were still there, but again, far too small for this amount of water to press through them. So, it had to come from somewhere up there, somewhere along the wall, closer to the top. There was no way to tell and therefore a very slim chance to stop it in time.

He wondered briefly if he would be able to make it up to the top, tread water long enough to reach the hatch at the top. And then, if he made it, would there be a way to open it? All granted that he would be able to swim with just one arm to use, the freezing cold water not paralyzing him completely by the time it filled the entire shaft and carried him upwards far enough.

Still, this seemed to be his only chance.

_Sammy, if you were ever planning on getting me out of this…now would be about the right time, bro!_

He forced himself to calm down, to slow his breathing, eyes pinched close for a minute or two to breathe through the panic that threatened to take over.

God, how long would that take till the water was all the way to the top, anyway? Would he be able to keep his composure this long?

Well, he'd find out soon enough. _Or, again, maybe not..._

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_AN:_

_Ok, so, what do you think? Hope you still like it and please let me know if you do! Those reviews really keep me going and I am not afraid to beg for more ;-)_

_Next chapter should be up soon! _

_And then – because I might not be able to post again before Christmas, I wish you all a wonderful, peaceful Christmas!_

_Frohe Weihnachten!_


	3. Chapter 3

_Welcome back!_

_I hope you all had a wonderful Christmas, or to those who don't celebrate, just a great week in general!_

_Thanks to all of you who took the time and effort to review, it really means a lot to me!_

_Here goes the next chapter, might be a bit short, but the next one will be up soon._

_Hope you enjoy!_

Chapter 3

It took Sam almost thirty minutes to reach the first tool shed. Sweeping the entire thing didn't take more than a couple of minutes, though, mostly collapsed as it was, definitely not in use for a long, long time. And since there was a thick layer of dust covering every available surface it was clear that Dean hadn't been here at any time in the recent past.

The second building he hit was an old green house, filled with not so healthy looking tomato-plants and zucchinis. They didn't look as if they'd been watered recently and again Sam could not find any trace of his brother ever having been here either.

By the time Sam reached the first of the garages closest to the house he was soaked in sweat despite the chill of the night and he allowed himself a ten minutes break in order to drink some water and settle his fast-beating heart.

Of course, the garage turned up nothing, as did the second one just a couple of minutes away. It took him a whole lot longer to search those buildings though, since these were locked up and he needed to pick the locks before being able to enter.

He was halfway towards the next building, a storage shed from what it said on the map, when suddenly a sharp pain hit him square in the chest, made him topple over in pain. He collapsed to the ground, panic freezing up his brain for an instant. Uncontrollable panic, his breath ripped from his body, the world around him blacking out for a minute or two.

He gulped for air, not able to draw a decent breath into his starving lungs, black dots appearing at the edge of his vision within barely minutes. But it wasn't just the exhaustion of running, of searching, not just the fear for his brother that kept a firm hold on him right now.

He shook his head, tried to clear his thoughts, to decipher the…emotions rippling through him. Those _feelings_…

It felt like water lapping over him, entering every crevice of his body, choking him, freezing him up. Water everywhere…and fear, no, panic…cold panic gripping him tight.

He never lost consciousness, not really, was more or less aware at all times and yet not really _there_.

It didn't feel like a vision, not like any vision he ever had before, anyway. There were no pictures or scenes playing out in front of his eyes, like a movie he was watching, just this complete darkness. And then this…feeling of utter and complete panic and he knew…he just knew…

"Dean…oh god, man. What the hell is happening to you?"

It was like a cry for help, a moment of unstoppable fear that made his brother reach out for him, call for him.

Something like this had never happened before. It felt a bit like back at the hospital, after the crash, when he had watched the doctors revive his brother's dying body. He had thought he'd heard Dean calling out then, had heard his voice reaching him through time and space. Or the incident with the glass breaking when Sam had been fighting with their dad…

Shit, so this had to be serious. If it wasn't already too late.

Sam pulled himself back up into a crouch, still panting and trembling from the violence of what he'd just been subjected to. He could still feel Dean, right there inside his head, fading away fast, beyond his reach.

_Ok, think, THINK. Thinkthinkthinkthink._

_Remember the "vision" or whatever it was. Remember what you felt. It might give you clue as to where to look. Something. There had to be something!_

He hadn't actually seen anything so no clues there. But what he had felt…he had felt what, exactly? Cold, definitely, freezing cold as a matter of fact, but that could still place Dean anywhere in the whole damn state. Since Dean had left basically all his clothes in the Impala he had to be cold if nothing else. Pain, too, but again, that didn't help him one bit.

But then there had been this other feeling…this…what the hell had it been, how to place it?

_Water._

It had felt like water, lots and lots of it, drowning in it. Engulfing him, choking him.

_Damn it._

He fumbled the map out of his backpack, flattened it with trembling hands on the ground in front of him, shining the flashlight over it frantically.

There was no pool on the premises, just a pond on the other side of the house. Somehow that didn't feel right, though. He'd take his chances with it anyway, nowhere else to go. If that wasn't _the_ place, then it would mean that Dean wasn't anywhere on the premises and that…_No, no thinking about this now. He had to be somewhere close by, Sam felt it, he just knew…_

Just when he was about to put the map away again his eyes fell on another mark, a little ways off to the side, barely on the premises anymore. It appeared to some kind of shaft, a well or something the like. A tunnel led to it, apparently, at one time, but it had been crossed out about halfway to the house. So no longer in use or collapsed, more likely. Still…the shaft…

That had to be it.

Just a feeling but he'd go with his gut-feeling now, hoped he wouldn't come to regret it later.

Frantically he crammed the map into his pocket, picking up the duffel and slinging it over his shoulder while already running full force. No time to waste, he'd rest later.

_I'm coming, Dean. Just hold on a bit longer._

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Almost at the top now…almost…

And he'd be damned if he gave up now, not when being so close.

Every single muscle in his body was screaming with exertion by now, trembling uncontrollably with the mind-numbing cold. At least it was a little easier to see up here, the thin crack in the ceiling illuminating the top of his prison a little more clearly. Up there was definitely some kind of door or latch. The only problem now if he would manage to open the damn thing from the inside at all, let alone still have the stamina to do it.

It got increasingly more difficult to tread water with his legs, them being not only tired but becoming more and more uncoordinated too. Must be the cold, numbing his muscles. And jeez, he would have been ready to swear that his ribs were screaming at him to stop moving, the pain almost driving him to the breaking point at times and he had to work up every last ounce of will to push past it, to keep treading. His arm was probably faring even worse. He had hooked his swollen thumb into one of the belt loops of his jeans to keep the limb from moving around aimlessly in the water, causing him even more pain. He kept his eyes glued onto the latch, his only means of escape – or so he hoped.

Just another minute or two and he'd be able to reach the latch.

_Sammy, what the hell. Right now would just be the time to find me, open up that latch and get me the hell out of here. I swear, if you do, I'll let you have first turn on the shower for a month – don't wanna go anywhere near water for some time to come anyway…and I'll buy dinner – for a week maybe more…depending._

No such luck, apparently.

He judged the distance, reached out his left arm, stretched it to its limit, brushed the metal of the door for a second before slipping off again, head going under for a second, leaving him sputtering and coughing.

How the hell was he supposed to bring up enough strength to push that thing open without anything to use as leverage? He couldn't even hold on with one hand and push with the other…

Another thirty seconds, then he tried again.

The damn thing didn't budge.

Slowly, or maybe not so slowly at all, he started to panic again, his breaths coming in short, heaving gasps. He put everything he had left into pushing at the damn latch one last time, pounded at it with his fist when it didn't budge, heaved when panicky waves of nausea and claustrophobia overwhelmed him once more, making breathing almost impossible.

Jesus, he was gonna drown? Was he going to drown here, no way out, the exit just inches from his face? He wondered briefly what it would feel like. Would he fight, scream, kick or just drift down slowly, accepting his fate?

God, no, accepting was not an option. But then again…what could he do.

OK, this was _SO _not helping him calm down.

He struggled, with all his might, to calm down his breathing, forced the black spots dancing around in his vision to retreat yet again, give him a little more time to think. Not really a lot of time, considering that he had like what…a couple of minutes left before the water reached the top of the shaft? His head almost hit the latch now, the water already up to his collarbone. Dean slid the numb fingers of his left hand through a rusty handle on the inside of the latch, holding on to relieve his legs a bit. The muscles in his biceps were trembling within seconds though and he wasn't sure he'd be able to hold on for long. Not that he would have to…

He _had_ found the source of the running water, but that hadn't proven to be of any help either. On his way up the friggin shaft he'd gone along the walls, searching for some crevice, an opening in the bricks, a pipe or drain. He'd found the pipe in the last third of the shaft, about as wide as a slender tree trunk, pouring the freezing liquid into his prison. Not nearly wide enough to fit a body through, certainly not his, anyway. Not that it mattered, since the water was coming _out_ of the damn thing with such force, he'd not be able to move against it. Not that he'd been eager to try, not knowing where it would lead, how long it would go, if there was any way he was going to get out of it at all.

The pipe also seemed far too small to pour such huge amounts of water into the shaft, fill it up so quickly. Definitely not natural…

If he couldn't go up, and going out the side entrance was out of the question, too, there was just one other way to go really, but he knew that this option was not going to work either…going down. No way was he going to open the damn door, he hadn't been able to dig it up enough.

Still, his last chance.

He decided that, against all odds, he would not go out without a fight. That much he owed…well, dad, for sure, and Sammy, most definitely. And himself, come to think of it. He'd not give in to his damn fear, he'd fight till he couldn't fight any more. And that would be that.

It still took him damn long to gather all his courage, tilting his head back to savour the last breaths he would be able to take before the water filled up the shaft entirely. He pinched his eyes shut tightly, trying to focus, fighting for sanity.

_I'm not going to drown. Notgoingtodrownnotgoingtodrownnotgoingtodrown…_

The mantra not really working. _Screw this._

_... _

_Sammy, come and get me, damn it. This would be THE James Bond moment right here and now…only a couple of more seconds to go… Please, stop the countdown, Sammy…_

He held on, fingers slipping time and time again on the cold and slick metal, took the deepest, longest breaths possible, held on till the water lapped over his lips.

One last time he cast his eyes upwards, checking if the latch hadn't opened miraculously, half expecting to see Sam's shaggy head appearing over the edge, his soft brown eyes peering down at him through the opening, hand extended to pull him out.

Still alone.

He closed his mouth and let go.

Sinking down was fairly easy, easier than he had thought, and a lot faster too, his body so heavy from his waterlogged clothes, his cold muscles. Once he had reached the bottom he sought out the door, found it on his first try, luckily enough. He latched the fingers of his left hand between two bricks just above the door, braced himself. Already he could feel the air supply in his lungs running out, could feel the familiar urge to let go of the air held in all at once, fighting the urge to do just that.

Just like battling Sammy for who could stay under water longer…let it go in small puffs, focus, focus,_ FOCUS_. Of course, the odds were stacked up against him just a bit here. Not the same situation as back then. So much more to loose than just his freaking pride…

He held on, searched for the glass of the window with the heels of his boots, which he had put on again after his fall off the wall. He'd doubted that it had been the right decision when trying to swim with the heavy things wearing him down. Now he considered it a blessing. He took aim, one foot braced against the floor for leverage, eyes closed for lack of lightning, took a swing.

At first, nothing happened, a painful jolt running through his ankle all he got for his efforts. It was damn hard to put much force behind a blow delivered under water.

_Should have tried that when there was no damn water in here… _

Too late for self-reproaches now.

Still he needed to try again.

He kicked the window again, then a third time and when he thought that he would try, one last time before he could not summon up the strength to do any more, he felt the glass give way beneath his heel, felt his foot sink through the glass, into free space beyond. He wriggled it free with effort, delivered two last kicks before he felt that he couldn't go on anymore.

_Damn it, fucking too late. _

He could feel the surge and pull of water draining out through the hole he had created, felt a sudden rush of joy at the thought that, indeed, the tunnel or whatever was lying beyond that door had not been completely filled with rubble or something else. The water would be able to drain, thank god.

The only problem was, he really didn't know if the opening was big enough for the draining to go on faster than the actual filling of the shaft. No way to know.

Probably no way to find out, either, because already he felt the last air leaving his mouth in a cluster of bubbles, rising quickly to the surface, taking with them the last bits of hope, of breath, of life.

He felt his head go light, dizziness taking over so quickly it almost surprised him. Maybe it was the coldness of the water or the sheer exhaustion of the excruciating hours spent down here, but there was actually nothing else he could do, his body simply not cooperating anymore. As the first swell of water pressed itself between his icy lips all he could think of was Sam, his little brother, his whole reason to live, and he figured that, Sammy being a freaking psychic and all, he'd just for the hell of it sent him a little message, a quick goodbye for all it was worth.

As his body slowly drifted up the shaft again he wasn't aware of the faint glow illuminating the water around him anymore, his eyes closed tightly to preserve the image of the last face he ever wanted to see, ever.

XxxXXXxxxXXXxxxXXXxxx

tbc

_AN: _

_I know it's a mean ending for the chapter, but I needed to end this here in order to get the typos and such out of the way for the next one. I hope you bear with me!_

_Ok, so as always…reviews are greatly appreciated…they keep me going._

_Take care._


	4. Chapter 4

_First off – thank you so much for your wonderful reviews. _

_I'm absolutely flattered and just a little bit under self-imposed pressure now to live up to your expectations here ;-)_

_Hope you enjoy:_

Chapter 4

Sam spotted the top of the shaft when breaking into a small clearing at the very edge of the premises. He was panting heavily by now, breath clouding furiously in front of his face, his throat burning from the cold air when he charged towards it at full speed. He skidded to a stop only a foot or two away, going down to his knees before actually stopping entirely, his duffel already off his shoulders and thrown onto the ground next to him.

He had noticed a strange gurgling noise, a very faint rumbling of the earth underneath his feet a couple of minutes earlier. If he'd been in a city he'd have guessed on a subway or underground train or something the like but out here that couldn't be. It had only served to make him go even faster.

He quickly searched the area around the rusty latch in the ground, found the whole area littered with dried leaves from the past fall, nobody had cleaned them away this far from the estate. Only the trapdoor had miraculously been spared, or, more likely, cleaned off at some time in the immediate past.

Sam knew, he just knew that this had to be the place…this had to be where Dean was.

Still he couldn't suppress a slight shiver, a mere second of hesitation before getting to work, afraid of what he might find upon opening the door. His hands were actually shaking, and it was not just from exhaustion after his dead run.

He put the flashlight down on his backpack, adjusting the angle of the beam so it would let him see the lock of the hatch clearly and leaving both is hands free.

The first violent pulls at the bolt that weighed down the door, laced through two hinges on either side of it, didn't do much good besides almost spraining his fingers. There was an ancient looking lock holding it in place and Sam desperately fumbled through his pockets until he found one of the paper clips he always kept on him now for situations like this…or when again, being chained to something or other. Dean had got a whole pack, made him spread them throughout basically every pocket of every piece of clothing he owned. It had actually already caused them much trouble in the Laundromat a couple of times, the damn things getting stuck in the machines and actually damaging some of them. Still Dean had insisted and Sam knew where it was coming from, so he bent to his brother's wishes and kept sticking the damn things into every single pocket he could find.

Now he was glad he had listened to Dean. Maybe big brother did know best after all, at least every once in a while… He'd make sure to tell Dean just that once he had found him. Or, maybe not. It would just boost his ego right through the roof and Sam really didn't think he'd need that. He might give big brother a thorough beating though, for scaring him the way he had, for disappearing on him like that. So far, Sam had been the one doing the disappearing acts. Now he actually understood what that must have felt like for Dean.

It took but a few seconds to pick the lock and he wrenched the rusty thing open with his bare hands, throwing it away carelessly. The hatch opened with a disgusting creak, the old metal or steel impossibly heavy. He heaved it over on its hinges until it crashed heavily onto the ground on the other side, opening up the small rectangle of a shaft underneath it.

Sam picked up the flashlight, went down onto his stomach and shuffled over the opening until his head cleared the edge and he was able to look down into the abyss. He couldn't see a thing until he shone the strong beam of the flashlight down, running it along the walls anxiously until he found the bottom.

_Dean…_There, huddled into a ball at the bottom of the shaft, some thirty feet down, lay his brother.

"Dean…Dean, hey man, can you hear me?" _Please, please, hear me, dude. Say something._

His voice sounded hollow, bouncing off the walls of the shaft to disappear in its depths. But the prone form of his brother didn't move, didn't so much as twitch at his voice and Sam go just a tiny bit desperate.

"Dean, hold on, man. I'll get you out of there. I'll get down to you now and then we'll get you out, you hear me?"

Apparently Dean didn't hear him, but it didn't stop Sam from keeping up an incessant swell of words, no real meaning behind them, while retreating from the opening, keeping his voice loud enough for Dean to hear, should he actually wake up.

They always kept a coil of rope in the trunk and for some weird reason Sam had decided to bring it along on his little excursion. The thing usually deteriorated pretty quickly since they had to cut off pieces for tying up people – demons or whatever else quite frequently. Luckily they had just bought a new coil some two weeks ago and Sam could only pray that the rope would be long enough to get him down as far as he needed.

He tied one end around the hinges of the trapdoor, testing if it would hold his weight. The rope did seem to reach to the bottom of the shaft, the end lying curled only inches besides his brother's still too prone form. When he was reasonably satisfied that it would indeed carry him, Sam slung his backpack over his shoulders, hefted the flashlight between his teeth and slowly descended down into the hole.

All the way down he couldn't take his eyes off of Dean and when he finally reached the bottom of his brother's prison he carefully made sure that he didn't step onto his still lifeless body. Immediately he dumped the duffel, dropped to his knees next to Dean. The beam of the flashlight shook almost violently and he had to force himself to calm down enough to take a closer look at his fallen sibling. He had no clue as to what had happened to him. If he had fallen down the shaft, or been thrown down it, more likely, he would have to be careful not to jostle him too much, make sure he didn't do more damage than good. A fall like this…it wasn't bound to be good.

God, did he look pale, his skin almost translucent despite an almost purple gash on his forehead and a likely colored split lip. Other than that Sam could not discern any other visible injuries, but he knew enough to not be too relieved at that. The worst injuries were usually the ones you couldn't see. Almost reluctantly Sam reached out his hand, laid trembling fingers against his brother's throat, holding his breath until he felt it…and he felt it almost immediately.

Not quite what he had originally hoped for, though, not the steady rhythm of a strong pulse but instead, the second he touched his brother's clammy and oh so cold skin, an almost violent shudder that went through his formerly too still body, a tremor so fierce it made Sam jump back involuntarily, he was so startled.

He had himself back under control quickly though, moving forward again to clamp a hand reassuringly over Dean's shoulder, pushing his other hand underneath his face to keep his head from hitting the floor with the intensity of the tremors raking through him.

"Dean, hey. Dude, it's me, Sam. I'm right here. Why don't you try and wake up for me there, bro? Come on, just open your eyes, let me see that you're OK."

Sam couldn't quite keep the tremor out of his voice and while he kept talking to his brother he carefully removed his hands from his body, shrugged off his own jacket and draped it over Dean's shoulders. He wasn't only cold, he was also wet, his shirt and jeans completely soaked through, his short hair flattened against his head and temples.

He was lying on the bare ground, the floor still muddy and squishy where apparently water had covered the packed earth and again Sam slipped a hand underneath his brother's face to keep it away from the muddy surface.

When he reached out to brush the wet strands of hair away from his forehead automatically, Dean's eyes flew open.

For a second or two, his eyes were empty though, glazed over and unfocused, squinting against the glare of the flashlight that apparently blinded him. Sam reacted right away, readjusted the beam so it would only illuminate the room indirectly.

"Dean, hey…" his voice soft and reassuring now, not quite as frantic as before, and he could basically hear his brother snapping back into reality.

"S'my?" His voice was hoarse and raspy and he coughed and sputtered for an eternity after just this one word, spitting up surges of stale water that had collected in his throat and mouth. Sam held on to his brother, determined to not let go of him, to make it right again.

"Sammy…y-you better…be real. If this is just…a s-sick…imagination…it's…where…h-her…?"

Sam laughed nervously, a little hysterically maybe, but he felt that he was entitled to a little hysteria right now.

Another coughing fit and the tremors racking Dean's body seemed to get more violent instead of better by the minute.

"Yeah, Dean, I'm real. I'm right here."

"…t-t-took you…?"

"What took me so long? Jesus Dean, it's not like you left a whole lot of clues as to where you've gone to. I didn't sleep a wink since you left…"

Ok, so maybe this was not the time for reproaches right now. Dean chuckled a little at his outbreak, though, or at least he tried to before succumbing to another round of hacking coughs, squeezing his eyes shut with the effort it apparently took.

"Ok, well…are you alright? Are you hurt somewhere?"

Dean seemed to need to think about this for a while, still not trying to sit up though and that alone did tell a lot, really.

"'m k-kinda…c-cold…"

Stating the obvious. Stupid idgit. Sam couldn't help but roll his eyes at that statement, hiding his nervousness with the familiar gesture. But he did realize that the cold probably was a huge problem, a lot bigger then he might imagine and he automatically scooted closer, tucking the jacket more tightly over his brother's bare arms.

Dean hissed in pain when Sam moved his right arm a bit closer to his body, quickly reached out to push Sam's hands away from him.

"Oww, m-man…the a-arm…think...t-think it's b-broken."

Under closer inspection Sam found that to be true, too. The whole limb swollen so badly that Dean was unable to move one single finger, let alone the wrist.

"OK, ok, what else, Dean? You know you got to tell me. No playing the hero here…"

Again Dean seemed to think about it for an uncomfortably long time before being able to answer.

"R-ribs might be c-cracked…but that's…OK, r-really. I…I just…I'm s-so damn c-cold…"

"Yeah, OK. Alright..." Sam ran a hand over his face, pinching his lower lip.

As if to prove his point, show his brother that he really, really did need to get out of here, preferably yesterday, Dean pushed himself up and with a little help from Sam managed to sit up against the wall. Still he was shaking so badly, Sam couldn't imagine he'd be making it back onto his own feet anytime soon, not under his own steam anyway.

"OK, here is what we do…"

Sam could feel Dean's eyes on him, even though half hidden by lowered lids, hanging onto his every word, waiting for him, his baby brother, to make the right decision, to get him out of this mess. It struck him how unfamiliar a feeling that was, how usually their roles were quite the opposite, or at least equal. Seldom like this. And did it just make him a tiny bit proud that Dean did indeed trust him like that? Not that it should surprise him, he knew his brother loved him, no doubt about that, trusted him with his life in so many situations but still… it also went to proof that Dean was indeed bad off, he wouldn't readily give away his role as protector of little Sammy, not even with a severed limb and his brain half smashed out of his skull. Dean would still be Dean.

"I'll tie that rope around your chest, right under your armpits. I know it's gonna hurt like hell, but there is no other way, I'm afraid… I'll go up first and then I can help you get up there, pull you because with that arm you won't be able to climb up by yourself."

Sam winced when he said it, almost feeling the pain and discomfort this way of hauling his body up would cause Dean. But there was no other choice, really. The rope was too short to make any other kind of harness that would make this any less uncomfortable. It would have to do. They'd have to get through this.

Dean only nodded, teeth actually chattering, and accepted Sam's help in getting the jacket put on properly, then tying the rope around him. Sam knew that it had to hurt, the sharp intakes of breath between those terrible tremors bearing witness to that, but of course Dean didn't say one word, just took it with that stubborn stoicism that sometimes drove Sam mad.

He had closed his eyes, lids unable to stay open for any longer period of time, and his long, damp lashes, laying curled up against his pale skin gave him an ridiculously young and helpless appearance in the poor lighting of the room.

Sam felt bad in leaving Dean down here, even if it would just be for a couple of minutes. He had no idea what exactly had happened to his brother but he'd have to wait a little longer to find out.

He kneeled down in front of Dean, laid a hand on his brother's shoulder, the other against his neck, waiting with forced patience until Dean had himself under control again, until he was able to focus on Sam once more.

"OK, see you up there in a bit, alright?"

Once again Dean pried heavy lids open, mossy green orbs searching for his brother's face, finding it and hanging on to it as long as he was able to before he let them drop shut again. He rested his head against the cold wall behind him, apparently fighting against the spasms shaking him, the muscles in his jaw cording with the sheer effort to keep his teeth from chattering. A lost fight, though.

With one last reassuring squeeze on the shoulder Sam finally tore himself away and started the arduous task of climbing the slick wall up himself. Going up was way harder than going down, that much was for sure. He kept slipping, his feet hardly finding any grip on the slick surface. Every couple of inches Sam could make out small holes in the old bricks, figured this must have been where, once upon a time, some kind of ladder had been fixed to the wall. Some way to get up and down besides the door at the bottom he had noticed, but hadn't been able to investigate any further.

All the way, he still kept talking, through huffs and puffs of his own incoherent breathing.

Just so Dean would know that he was still there…

xxxXXXxxxXXXxxxXXXxxx

The familiar rumble of the Impala's engine helped Dean pull himself out the last bit of the way. All the time since Sam had found him, had pulled him out of the damn hole, had half dragged, half carried him through a freaking forest to get him to the street and the parking lot where his baby sat and waited for him, dark and reassuring, her vinyl seats reaching out to comfort his aching body, he had not been entirely sure it was really…_real._ Somewhere deep inside there had always been this nagging doubt, the fear that maybe, just maybe, this was all just a trick, a sick game Isabella was playing on him. To make him pay for rejecting her.

It was hard to discern what had been real and what hadn't. Had the water been real? It sure had felt that way. And he was dripping wet, soaked through and through, so it probably hadn't just been a dream. But then again…he had drowned, hadn't he? He had felt the water entering his lungs, had let go…

He shuddered at the thought…or at least shuddered inwardly since on the outside there was no way he could tremble any more than he already was. Another coughing fit shook him and he could feel Sam's gaze fix onto him, felt the car slowing when his brother tried to decide whether or not to stop and help him. After a minute or two Dean sank back into the seat, exhausted beyond belief, all but spent. Sam's eyes still on him, his tension noticeable. But he kept driving, speeding up some more, apparently determined to get them back to the motel even faster.

The pain was real, that much he could tell, the cold definitely too. He had barely been able to walk, his legs giving out on him every couple of steps, his feet so numb he didn't actually feel them at all anymore. Not much feeling left in his arms and fingers, either. Besides the freaking pain in his right arm. But that had to mean that they weren't completely frostbitten, right? Still had to be some nerves functioning properly for the damn arm to hurt that much.

Sam had put a makeshift splint on it…some sticks and pieces of cloth wound around it to keep the arm as immobile as possible. Still the whole limb hurt up into his teeth, every vibration of the car, every unevenness of the road reverberating through him like shocks of electricity. It actually scared him a bit to think about how much more he would hurt once the cold was gone from his body. If it ever did go away completely. Right now that was kind of hard to imagine.

Sam drove the car impossibly fast, reckless almost but Dean could neither find the energy nor the heart to tell him to slow down, spare his baby. He could just imagine what Sam would have to say about that.

The heater was turned on to full blast, he could see his brother sweating already, but somehow the warmth did seem to stop before being able to warm him up any, like an invisible wall around him keeping the heat away from his desperate body.

Sammy had basically smothered him in another jacket, a blanket and a sleeping bag he had dragged up from the trunk but all those layers didn't help to warm him one bit. Involuntary groans pressed out between his closed lips, every single muscle ached from the cold, the tremors.

_Just freaking great._

He couldn't make his body stop shaking.

_Like a goddamn baby._

Sammy kept talking, chattering, and if the sounds of the Impala hadn't convinced him completely, then this definitely did the trick. He found himself smiling painfully into the folds of his cocoon, hidden from his brother's view, but smiling nonetheless.

He had known Sammy would find him. It had taken him a freaking eternity, but eventually he had. Timing had never been his little brother's strength.

He really wanted to sleep, wanted to spare his own body the agony, but there was just no way he could let go right now. His body was wired and tensed to the point where he thought it might snap apart at any second now, muscles so cramped from the shaking, it actually hurt to just sit, to just breathe.

"Just a bit longer…only a couple of more minutes…just hang in there."

He wasn't sure if it was Sammy's voice saying that to him, or if he was just imagining things, but he chose to believe, once again.

Sam had found him…had gotten him out. Had never given him a reason not to trust him so far. No reason to stop believing him now.

XxxXXXxxxXXXxxxXXXxxx

„H-hey dude…I m-might be f-freezing to death...but...s-still got p-privacy issues here…"

Dean looked at him with this almost comical look of indignation and Sam had to work hard on keeping his determined face on. If he hadn't known better he'd say that Dean was putting on a show here, but unfortunately his big brother really was feeling miserable. No doubt about that. But even that didn't keep Dean from cringing at the thought of his little brother having to help him take a damn shower.

Sam had manhandled his brother out of the car and into the room, then gotten his clothes off and dragged him into the bathroom, carrying most of Dean's weight in an awkward grip that allowed his brother to pretend he was doing at least some of the work himself still. It stopped there, though. There was no way Dean would be able to get into the shower himself, let alone keep himself upright for more than a minute, tops and they both knew it.

"Well, tough, Dean, because I got issues with you falling over and splitting your head on the tiles in the shower. So just stop being a prude and suck it up. I ain't going anywhere."

He planted his feet apart firmly to state his case and stared his brother down until he relented. Not really hard going considering Dean was sitting on the closed toilet-seat, wrapped in a flowered comforter from one of their beds – _daisies and tulip, for crying out loud_ - shivering like a newborn, not even able to keep his teeth from chattering. His lips had started taking on a slightly bluish tinge and his injured arm, hideously swollen still, was starting to change into an even deeper shade of blue already.

Dean tried to smile at the remark, which seemed to be hard work, muscles sluggish and unresponsive, when suddenly his demeanour changed, the shivering stopping completely, muscles relaxing so suddenly it made him slump forward with the lack of tension in his formerly rigid body.

Sam was on his knees in front of his brother in an instant, catching him in the movement before he'd be able to fall to the floor, propping Dean back up with his own upper body.

"Whoa, Dean, easy there. What are you doing? What's wrong?"

The blanket had slid off Dean's shoulders and Sam quickly tugged it back up around his body, wound it tightly and clasping it shut in front of his chest with his own hand, since Dean had somehow lost his grip and didn't seem to be able to pick it back up.

"Dean, hey. What happened? Are you alright?"

Sam gently nudged his brother's shoulder, searched for Dean's eyes, craving for contact. Confused green eyes finally flicked open to meet his', skimming his face, not saying anything.

"Hey… You with me again?"

Dean just kept staring at him, eyes wide and slightly glazed over, before they suddenly started darting across the room, towards the door that led into the bedroom, fixing on something Sam couldn't see.

"She's coming back…"

His voice a whisper at best, confused and… something else…fear, maybe? No, that couldn't be, could it?

"What? Dean, who's coming back? There's no one here but us…"

Dean's eyes remained fixed away from him, pupils widening gradually.

Sam grabbed onto his brother's shoulders, trying to ground him, pull him back into reality. He had seemed coherent enough until just one minute ago. What the hell had happened? Sam's mind was reeling, feverishly searching his brain for an explanation for his brother's behaviour. When he couldn't get him to respond Sam reached out a long arm to close the door, blocking Dean's view of…whatever it was he was seeing, locking them both into the small confinements of the bathroom.

Dean seemed to snap out of it, head almost whipping around to face Sam again and for a moment it seemed as if he might be struggling against his brother's grip but failing miserably. Sam realized that Dean didn't seem to be back from wherever it was his mind had been wandering to. His eyes again darted around the room, panic creeping up towards the surface some more. His left hand shot up and tried to grab onto Sam's arm, numb fingers slipping off empty, trying again.

"Sammy…make it stop…"

Sam cringed at the sound of utter desperation in his brother's voice.

"What, Dean? Make what stop?"

He toned his voice low and reassuring, working hard on keeping his own fear at check, placing a reassuring hand around Dean's neck and gently forced him to focus back on him, look into his eyes again.

Dean blinked rapidly, looking at Sam but not really _at_ him at the same time. His teeth were clamped shut, the muscles in his jaw twitching and jumping as he swallowed convulsively, apparently trying to make sense of the situation.

Sam gripped him harder, squeezed his cold neck while his other hand, still holding on to the blanket and Dean's hand, pressed against Dean's chest, centering him. Not pressing too hart, always conscious of the damaged ribs, but keeping a firm enough grip to hold him steady.

It took minutes, and Sam was about to get desperate, thinking feverishly about other options, when Dean's eyes suddenly cleared just a little bit, the slightly distant look once more turning towards his little brother, truly seeing him again, the snap back into reality almost audible. Sam held on to his brother's hand which again had started to slip off his arm, held it gently but firmly in place.

"Sammy…?"

"Yeah, Dean. I'm right here… Not going anywhere. What do want me to do? Make what stop?"

"What…I…I don't know. What…are you talking about?"

His eyes were fairly clear now, the confusion written all over them clearly because he didn't remember a thing that had just happened. His words were a little sluggish though, the violent shivering not yet returned, only small, involuntary shudders rippling over his skin wherever Sam touched it and it was at that moment that Sam knew that he had to change his plan of action.

Sam didn't quite remember when he'd read this up, or why he had done it, for that matter, but something in his mind clicked, made him remember researching hypothermia on the internet once. Had been a while ago but he was pretty certain that he recalled the really important details and he really didn't like when, with frightening clarity he knew what was wrong and he knew that he didn't have all that much time left anymore.

"OK, dude, let's get you back to bed."

Sam almost expected a smug reply to that and it actually stung like hell when none came. Dean didn't give any sign that he attempted to get up either.

"Come on, time to go. We've got to get you warmed up. This is more serious than I thought."

"Shower…you said…I was gonna take a bath?! You wanted to help?"

Again the words would have been hilarious if it wasn't for the seriousness of the situation. Sam choked back a strangled sound that rushed up in his chest. Dean certainly was not laughing. Neither was Sam.

"Yeah, that was the old plan. But I think you've got a very serious case of hypothermia…don't remember exactly, but I think... Dean, we need to warm you up, and now."

"You…used up all the hot water?" A little more coherent now, still his speech was not back to normal.

"No, Dean, the water's fine. It's just that…we can't get your whole body to warm up at once…I think I read somewhere that you need to warm up your heart first, or else the cold blood pushes back towards it and then…" _your heart might just explode from the pressure_…better not say that out loud, that would make it real…

He could tell that he'd lost his brother again, though, when Dean's eyes once more started to drift. Damn, he was going up and down at an alarmingly quick pace. Still he was not shivering and for some reason that frightened Sam even more than the violent tremors from before.

Definitely a bad sign. Even worse than the shivering.

"Ok, come on there, bro. You gonna help me get you moved back to the bed now?"

Dean nodded, seemingly lost, and accepted Sam's arm around his waist to help him get up. He swayed slightly and even through the blanket Sam could feel the icy coldness of his brother's skin. Dean seemed terribly disoriented, not knowing where to go even though the door was right in front of him. Together they made it back to the room and over to Dean's bed, Dean stumbling about a half dozen times on the short walk, needing to lean heavily against Sam to stay on his own feet.

When Sam settled him on the bed Dean didn't immediately curl up like he had supposed would be the case but instead stayed propped up, unmoving, eyes focused intently on his brother, as if waiting for him to tell him what to do. The blanket had again slipped from his shoulders but he made no move to tuck it back up. His skin was exceptionally pale, a slight bluish tinge creeping up on his chest now too.

Damn it, he shouldn't be cooling out even further anymore. The heat in the room was turned on to full blast, but the appliances definitely had seen better days and it didn't really seem to get warm fast enough.

Sam tucked the blanket back around his brother's shoulders, gently pushed against his chest to make him lie down. Dean complied without argument and that in itself was more than unusual and enough to scare Sam almost out of his mind. He quickly grabbed the blankets off his own bed, draped them over Dean as well. He knew that it wouldn't help him to get warmer, though, only prevented him from loosing any more body-heat than he already had.

"OK, let me think…we need to warm you up. We still got any heat-packs in the first aid kit?"

Sam didn't really expect an answer, he just seemed to be thinking more clearly when at least pretending to discuss things with Dean. Had always been that way, even when he'd been away…at school.

He remembered Jess laughing at him that day when he'd tried to set up the new closet they had bought, the first piece of furniture they had acquired together. He'd sat pouring over the instructions which had apparently been translated to English from Japanese or Chinese or whatever by someone not being able to speak either language. When he'd asked her what had been so funny, she had told him that he apparently had been talking to some _Dean-guy_,asking him what to do next, what _Dean_ would do now.

It had taken Sam a while to realize that indeed, he'd been talking out loud, making up a conversation with his brother, asking him for help… Just the way it had always been…the way it should be. Always.

So no, he didn't expect an answer now, either. Just talking for his own benefit, mostly. That was why he was actually surprised to hear Dean's voice from basically underneath the covers, apparently answering him.

"Not cold…anymore."

Sam smiled tiredly, searching Dean's face, but his brother's eyes were giving too much away, too painful to look at, exhaustion and pain clearly painted all over his drawn features.

"Yeah, well. You are…you just don't feel it right now. Your brain kind of confuses the information your body is sending its way at the moment. Trust me on this, OK? Just stay under the covers and let me handle the rest, alright?"

Dean nodded his assent, even though Sam doubted that he really was aware of what exactly he was agreeing to. There was this look in his eyes again and Sam was actually relieved when his brother closed them.

A quick search of the first aid kit and turned up nothing but he eventually found the seeked after items in one of their supply-duffels. Four gel-packs all in all and he quickly threw them into the microwave and heated them up for the time indicated on the packs. He grabbed a bunch of towels from the bathroom, wrapped each pack up and went over to the bed again. Dean appeared to be asleep and for a second Sam felt guilty for having to wake him up, but the eerie stillness of his brother's body freaked him out, big time.

"Hey Dean, sorry man, but you gotta wake up for me."

He ran a finger along the cut on Dean's forehead, edges puffed up and colored a deep unhealthy purple, but not bleeding. That was probably due to the cold and he had to remember to check on the wounds once he had gotten Dean's temperature back up. He'd have to take care of the wounds later, anyway. None of them seemed too bad, nothing he couldn't handle, or so he thought. He just really wasn't sure that he should be treating a case of hypothermia this severe by himself. Maybe he should get him to a hospital, after all. While at first Dean had raised hell at the suggestion Sam wasn't sure that he'd be up for the fight anymore. He'd be pissed, for sure, but at least he'd get better…

How far was the next hospital, anyway? There wasn't one in town, not even a decent clinic, as far as he could tell. Again he was startled by Dean's voice and realized that he had been staring at his big brother for some time now.

"Still here, Sammy…not going…anywhere…"

Sam smiled at that, began pulling off the layers of blankets engulfing his brother's body.

"I'll put these on your chest and underneath your armpits. I think that's the way to do it, anyway. We'll replace them about every twenty minutes or so…but you should try to stay awake, I'm pretty sure you've got a nasty concussion. And you should drink a lot, too. Something warm and sweet, if I remember correctly. There is a whole bunch of tea-bags in the kitchenette. I'll fix you a cup in a minute."

"No tea, man…get me…some coffee?"

Dean still sounded slightly confused, like a lost child and it made Sam cringe inwardly.

Was that the hypothermia bothering him or was there something else? The concussion, most definitely, but maybe also something else entirely?

"Nah, no coffee for you, sorry. You know the deal. Warm and sweet. As far as I remember, coffee is not on the list. It'll be tea for you."

Dean pulled a face at that and this time Sam allowed himself a low chuckle. He had peeled the blankets off his brother, gently placing the wrapped bags on his brother's clammy chest, noticing the bruises there but figured that those could wait, too. Nothing but some pretty ugly skin abrasions and a couple of cuts that would probably not even need stitches, so he'd save those for later.

No way to tell if his ribs were broken or "only" cracked, a couple of bruises along the left side of his ribcage suggested some damage there, but he was able to lift Dean's arms just far enough to stuff the two remaining packs underneath his armpits and again he chose to take care of it later. What worried Sam the most right now were the head-wound and his right arm. There was another gash right above his ear, too. The arm had to be broken, the two lumps stretching the skin hard and unyielding. This kind of swelling was not good, especially with the cold it already had been subjected to and still looking this bad.

What was he even thinking? Going to a hospital was unavoidable. They should really be leaving, right now. Only that, the more severe the injury, the greater the danger of the hospital staff informing the authorities. After everything that had happened in that bank…really not an option. Better stay under the radar – at least for a while.

A broken arm would not be something anyone would get too suspicious about. If he could get his brother back on his feet, treat the hypothermia himself, then take him to the hospital and get the arm fixed, everything should be fine. No need to keep him overnight, no need to file out any insurance forms. They'd just pay cash and leave before anyone noticed anything.

He absolutely wasn't sure that this was the right decision, but Sam had no choice really – _they_ had no choice. Keeping Dean safe meant staying low. That meant Dean needing to suffer and as much as he hated it, there was nothing he could do about it. He chose to give it a little more time, to work through this and should Dean not get better soon, he'd figure something out.

Dean groaned, the sound emanating low in his throat, shifting uneasily on the bed. Sam snapped out of his despairing thoughts, realized that he still crouched next to the bed. He replaced the blankets, covered his brother up to the chin and carefully pushed one of the pillows underneath his injured arm to prop it up and rest it softly until he had time to take a better look at it.

"I'll make you some tea now, Dean. And you know what? I came across this Chinese place when I was out looking for you…you do like that Chinese chicken soup, right? I think I might order us a couple of cups in a little while. You might like that better than tea."

Sam kept talking while fixing the tea, keeping up the one-sided conversation as much for his brother's benefit as for his own. He knew that Dean was clinging to his every word, the meaning behind them not important. He might not even hear half of what was being said, as long as he knew that someone was there it was OK. Being alone in that prison for that long a time, so cold and definitely in pain, had to have left him raw and bleeding in more ways than just the obvious. Sam knew Dean well enough.

When he returned to the bed to check on the heat packs he realized that already they were cooling out but his brother still wasn't any warmer than before. Since the tea was still too hot to drink Sam set about re-warming the packs and replacing them before moving back to the bed to sit on the edge beside his brother. Dean was stirring slightly, muscles twitching restlessly.

"Dean, you got to sit up a bit so you can drink. Think you can do that?"

Again those green eyes Sam knew so well opened, searched for him but didn't seem to find what they were looking for, even though Sam was sitting right in front of him. Sam watched in horror as his brothers unfocused gaze swept over him as if he wasn't there at all, searching the room frantically for…_something. _When he didn't seem to find it, he started to push himself up, panic creeping into his gaze, unconsciously using his right hand for leverage and before Sam could prevent him from doing so he cried out in pain, slumped back down onto the mattress.

"Sammy…please…make it stop…"

His voice raw and pained and so…vulnerable…

He shivered, almost cramped, his breaths coming in ragged gulps, his eyes dark, bottomless pits of fear and agony.

Sam cringed at the sound and sight of his usually strong, older brother, the person used to holding him, protecting him all his life. He had no idea what was plaguing his brother, made him sound so desperate, so broken, all he knew is that he had to stop it, now. Sam reached out for Dean, trying to steady him, completely at a loss as to what to do.

Well, maybe not completely. Dean's pride be damned…

Quickly he took a firm but gentle hold of his brother, propped him up and scooted his own body over onto the bed, pushing himself against the headboard and pulling Dean with him, resting his brother's back against his chest, his head tilting back against Sam's shoulder. Still no shivering, only the tremors of exhaustion and fear rippling through Dean's body, still far too cold.

"Ok, easy, Dean, take it easy. I'm right here, I'll make it stop, OK? Whatever it is, I'm right here, I'll make it stop."

He practically rocked his big brother, pulling the blankets up around the two of them, reaching out to hold the heat packs in place where they belonged, one hand creeping over his brother's heart, beating way too fast and out of rhythm, willing the warmth of his own body to warm Dean's, praying it would work.

So part of his dad's hated survival training might have paid off, after all. Wouldn't that just make him proud of his youngest…all those times of being accused of not paying attention.

But simply holding Dean somehow didn't seem enough. He tried to think of something, anything he could do to get his brother back to him, to make him feel better, if not physically at least mentally. He tried to think of a song to whistle or hum and had to laugh at the thought of what his brother might have to say to that.

OK, so maybe no singing then, it might just make him feel more miserable than he already was.

"Just breathe, Dean. Deep and steady breaths. Feel that? Just don't bail out on me... I'm right here now. I'll make it stop. I promise…"

XxxXXXxxxXXXxxxXXXxxx

_AN:_

_So the next couple of chapters will deal with some serious comforting and brotherly love and caring… I'm just such a sucker for Hurt/Dean and of course Sam and Dean taking care of each other, so there's not going to be any shortage on that topic, I'm afraid ;-) _

_At least I don't care anymore if that makes me some kind of freak or not…I learned to accept the fact ___

_Hope you don't mind…_

_But don't fear, Isabella's gonna be back..._

_Ok, hope you liked it and once again thanks to everybody who took and will take the time to read and review. _

_You guys honestly sweep me away and I'm working hard on answering every single review, still am a bit behind, though…but every single one is certainly highly appreciated!!_

_Next update will be up soon – if you want to stick with me, which I truly hope!_


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

He felt inexplicably warm. Not entirely comfortable though, basically smothered in thick layers of fabric. A little dizzy, and the warmth was somehow…wrong, as if it was just a front, something to deem him safe when in reality he wasn't. The room was spinning around him even though his eyes were closed and his heart seemed to beat far too fast for his otherwise exceptionally heavy body. The sensation this caused was overwhelming, something he couldn't remember ever feeling before.

OK, so definitely not feeling all that comfortable, come to think of it, just far too tired and exhausted to do anything about it.

Dean was aware of something being placed on his chest, underneath his arms, felt additional warmth seep through his seemingly paper-thin skin only to evaporate within an instant before ever reaching the deeper layers of his body. Funny, he felt warm and at the same time…not.

At least the shivering had stopped, his muscles sore and overused, like after hours and hours of digging up graves, after being thrown around by some psychotic ghost-bitch. OK, so all that was actually true, plus the violent shivering that had strained his muscles beyond their acceptance.

Then he heard a sound, unmistakable, frighteningly close and then, again, the first drops of water were falling down on him, hitting his face, his chest.

_No, hell no. nononononono. This couldn't be happening, not again…not again._

Damn, how in hell…he had gotten out, right? Had it just been a dream? Was this reality and Sam getting him out of that hole – had it all been a dream? Had she done that to him, to make him feel safe, playing with his mind before killing him? Again?

But he could hear Sam, could feel his presence right next to him, tucking him back in. This couldn't be fake, could it? No way she could come up with something like that, something that felt so damn good, so real? He could swear he heard his brother talking, incessantly, an ever present presence, like music in the background, drawing his thoughts away for a minute or two.

Dean felt someone unwrap him from his comfortable prison of blankets, felt the slight chill of the room creep up on him before again those warm packages were placed on his body, sheets drawn over him even more tightly then before. He felt like a little kid, having a nasty fever or something, being tucked back in by his mom or dad.

Only, that he couldn't really remember ever having been this sick with mom or dad being around… Once, he must have been eight or nine, a pretty nasty bug had gotten him, but dad had been gone, on a hunt, of course. And Sammy…Dean thought he remembered him being at Pastor Jim's for the week or something the like… He had definitely been alone. The feeling of utter loneliness and fear still very much engraved on his brain.

Later on, of course, there had been plenty of times when he'd been hurt…too many times to count, actually. And then it would usually be Sam who took care of him as best as he could. Only that Dean never really let anybody see how seriously hurt he really was, especially not his little brother. This situation right now was pretty unique, then, definitely something new. If it was real at all…

He remembered tucking Sam back in, countless times, on more occasions that he could count. Taking care of him when he was sick or hurt, later on, when he'd been officially made a partner in the family business…or an apprentice, more like. With dad around, both of them had hardly been anything but.

So apparently this was just something he made up, the memory of being taken care of, something that he wanted to feel so desperately that he thought he actually remembered what it would be like?

And, truth be told, his head did feel kind of fuzzy, unreal, out of proportion. So maybe this indeed was just another trick of his mind, or rather, Isabella's mind, forcing him to go through everything again, adding timbers to the flames to make it all burn even brighter, to make it hurt even more…

Maybe Sam coming to save him had been nothing but an illusion, too? Maybe the feeling of him right there, next to him, was nothing but his imagination making this up because all he had ever truly needed, was for Sam to be there…

He heard Sam speaking, or at least he thought he did, in a low voice and right next to him.

And he figured that he'd be OK to live with the imagination, then, that it would be OK as long as it at least felt like Sam was there, being by his side. He would be able to pretend, because everything was better than the alternative.

But again the sound of rushing water drowned out the words, an ever increasing cascade of murmuring waves washing over him, making him dizzy, nauseous.

He pried his eyes open, searching, frantically, in the darkness of his dungeon for the source of the water, searching for a way out, a window to break to make the water drain away, set him free once again.

To find a way out of there.

_Oh god, he needed to get out of here…_ He didn't think he'd be able to take this…not again, not like this. Not with his brother feeling so close and still so far away…

He pushed himself up, intent on finding that door again, prying it open, smashing it in, when a sharp pain shot up his hand, his arm, searing towards his shoulder and he thought he might have cried out. Or maybe not, no way to tell with that roaring waterfall all around him.

_Sam… _He was there, somewhere, he was almost sure of it. Why didn't he do anything, why didn't he get him out of there, help him, keep him from drowning?

"_Sammy…please…make it stop…"_

It felt like a hopeless struggle, his lungs screaming for air, body shuddering uncontrollably from lack of oxygen.

And then again, just as the water was about to lap over his head, force it's way down his throat, his nose, just when he was about to go into full on panic mode, he was suddenly pulled back.

Strong hands grabbed him, held him tight, dragged him up towards the surface. It felt like back at Lake Manitok, breaking the surface with the boy, Lukas safely in his arms, gasping for air to nurture his screaming lungs. The salvation indescribable. Only this time he wasn't the one doing the saving, this time he was the one being saved.

Someone held on to him, pulled him out of the water, kept him from going under again. Something pressed against his chest, right over his heart, but the initial moment of panic that instantly seized him evaporated almost as quickly when he realized that this time, it wasn't the icy chill of Isabella's ghostly fingers trying to grab him.

This time there was a comforting warmth seeping through the more unreal one, the shady one, slowly pervading his ice-like skin and flesh, slowing down his racing heart.

_Sam…_

No more mistaking there, he'd know Sam's hands anywhere, had held on to them for most of his life.

He had come back…

Dean let himself fall, then, let himself loosen up and sink back into the comforting warmth and the tight hold of his brother's arms.

Sam had come to get him…he had come back…

And just like that, he was saved.

xxxXXXxxxXXXxxxXXXxxx

Sam felt Dean relax in his arms after what seemed like an eternity, tight muscles loosening up a bit, his body slumping even further back against his chest. Then his brother opened his eyes once more and again the confusion written in them was not due to some kind of vision or nightmare but solely in reference of the situation he found himself in.

Okay, so, yeah, the situation could be considered a bit awkward, Sam would be the first to admit that, but he'd worry about Dean's view of the situation later on.

Dean didn't say a word though, not complaining, not right now. Yet Sam had a distinct feeling that it was still to come, once he was feeling well enough to make light of the situation.

And he himself just might use it as a bargaining chip when the need arose. Even Sam Winchester couldn't resist this good an opportunity.

All in good time, tough.

He managed to make Dean drain the whole cup of tea before he started to slip off again. It might have been his imagination, but he thought his brother seemed to be just a tick warmer than before. Still the cold of his skin that managed to seep through the fabric of Sam's t-shirt where he held his brother tight was frightening, but maybe, just maybe it did feel just a tiny bit warmer than before. They might be able to tackle this, after all.

Sam held on maybe a minute longer than necessary before becoming aware that the heat-packs had by now completely lost their warmth and he really had to get a move on before his brother started cooling out again.

He gently slipped out from behind his brother, and again it might just have been a trick of his tired brain but he thought he felt Dean shiver slightly when his back left the cushion of Sam's chest, his brother searching for the contact, the warmth, Sam's body heat being pulled away from him. While tucking the blankets up around his brother till the packs were ready once again, he recognized the now familiar tremors starting to shake Dean's body, slowly reappearing and he didn't think he ever had felt this good about seeing Dean shiver, ever before.

He remembered reading that often, in severe cases of hypothermia, the victims felt inexplicably warm, the shivering stopping completely, some people even insisted on undressing themselves because of a sudden heat-rush. The phenomenon couldn't really be explained so far, but Sam knew that this only ever occurred in the final stages of the illness, right before…

Another close call…one of far too many lately.

XxxXXXxxxXXXxxxXXXxxx

Over the course of the next couple of hours Sam changed the heat packs every fifteen minutes, feeling his brother gradually warming up though still being far too cold. But he was getting there. He'd wake him every 30 minutes, make him drink at least a cup of tea and later forced a cup of the chicken soup he'd gotten delivered down his throat, minus the meat – just the fluids he so desperately needed.

That and the usual questions following a concussion, their dad had drilled that into them over and over again. It felt somehow wrong that Sam did remember those questions and the right timing for them before he could even count to 100. Had gotten plenty of practice throughout his life, sadly enough. Even before he'd known what his dad did when he'd stayed gone for so long, he'd been used to checking for injuries, dilated pupils, signs of vertigo. He had watched Dean do it for as long as he could remember. Talk about a role model…

At one point Sam helped Dean put on some sweat pants and thick socks, feeling that now it was safe enough to warm the whole of his brother's body without running the danger of making his heart burst from the cold blood being pushed back into it.

When finally the tremors had taken on full force again he wasn't all that sure that he was actually relived to have them back anymore, though. It looked a hell of a lot like convulsions and a couple of times Sam had to restrain Dean physically in order to keep his body from doing itself any more harm.

This was also the time he realized that he really should have done something about those wounds sooner. Now that his temperature climbed up slowly but steadily, the wounds started to loose their deep blue colour and turned an angry red, the edges puffing up and swelling incessantly. It really would have been so much smarter to do this while Dean was still too cold to feel the pain quite as badly, when he had not been shaking so violently that it made stitching impossible.

Still there was nothing he could do for his arm. Bandaging it up out of the question for that would only serve to increase the swelling and there was nothing here he could use to build a better splint for the injured limb than the one he'd amateurishly put together earlier on. For now he'd just have to make sure that Dean didn't jostle it too much. Once the tremors stopped, he'd be more conscious of not moving it himself.

All he could do at the moment was to get the antibiotic ointment they still had in their first aid kit and apply a generous amount over the deep and ragged skin-abrasions on his shoulder and arm, his side, then cover it up with some gauze and tape it in place.

He worked quickly, making sure his brother was not exposed to the air too long to keep him warm.

Cleaning the gashes on his head proved to be a little more complicated. He took some peroxide and poured it over the gashes, holding Dean tight until the hisses of pain the burning wounds prompted subsided, then covered the wounds with salve and gauze as well. Stitches had to wait until his brother could lie still on his own.

When finally he'd done all he could for now, Sam found himself completely at a loss. He sat on the edge of his own bed forever, just watching his brother shiver and moan in his all but peaceful sleep, the vigilant watch only broken by his frequent administrations.

He felt all but spent, bone weary and tired beyond belief. Yet there was no rest for him, not now. First he'd have to make sure that Dean was going to pull through this. He was not going to leave his brother's side until then.

When the shivers shaking Dean to the core didn't subside, he once again slipped underneath the covers, holding him close, not even grinning at the awkwardness of the situation anymore. Dean would so have his ass for this if he was ever going to find out! But then again, physical contact helped transfer warmth, he'd checked the internet on it and had found it to be confirmed from many sources, so what the hell.

Dean would just have to get over it.

XxxXXXxxxXXXxxxXXXxxx

Whoever said that waking up was the easy part was a damn liar.

For what seemed like hours now he drifted in and out, too weak to actually wake up, to rattled and shaken to actually go to sleep.

The worst part of it were the tremors, his body seemed to have taken on a life of it's own again, shaking so violently that it made actual, peaceful sleep impossible. His whole body hurt, so much so that he almost prayed that he'd finally loose consciousness again so that at least he wouldn't have to deal with those freaking cramps anymore, could escape the pain.

He knew he should feel warm, by all means, huddled in layers and layers of blankets, with those heat-packs his brother kept placing on his chest every couple of minutes. The air in the room felt stiff and constricting, as if the heat was turned up way beyond an ordinary level, but still he didn't feel warm at all.

His muscles actually hurt, every single one of them, from the tremors tormenting them. It almost felt like one of those laughing cramps, when you simply can't stop laughing and your abs already hurts beyond belief but still you can't stop… Only that now there was nothing remotely positive linked to the pain he felt throughout his whole damn body.

His head felt like a ferrier was hammering away inside of it with a sledgehammer, the pain so intense it actually made him nauseous. His chest hurt with ever single breath he took and his whole left side felt like someone had tried to skin him alive.

And then of course, his arm. Not only that it wouldn't obey one single command his brain sent its way, but the whole limb felt puffy and on fire at the same time now, from the tip of his fingers up to way above his elbow. And damn, did it hurt. Pain throbbed through his whole body in time with his heartbeat and if he had thought before that his heart beat too damn fast for his own liking, than this was the most definite affirmation right here.

Also the place above his heart still burned with an icy chill, yet he knew that this at least was not a wound that would be visible to anyone but him.

He thought that at some point he felt someone there, next to him, holding him but it was all too unreal and foggy and he really couldn't be sure. He could have sworn that he heard Sam, felt him, his big hands holding onto him, holding him close. Now, that would have been awkward, though, and even though it did feel kind of nice, purely in the non-awkward, brotherly kind of way, of course, he chose not to dig too deep here. Far too exhausting to even think about it. He'd deal with it later.

All he did realize was that he sorely missed the additional warmth that presence provided him with, as soon as it was gone again.

He tried cracking an eye open, made it to maybe a tiny slit before being stopped by his own heavy and swollen lids. He was so damn thirsty and at the same time…not. The mere thought of something even remotely liquid…

He was lying on his right side, the pressure this put on his injured arm, even though extended in front of him, almost unbearable. He feebly rotated the limb, or tried to anyway and when failing miserably he attempted to roll over onto his other side, to relieve his already numb shoulder of its burden for a while. And while it had seemed like a pretty good idea at the time he hadn't quite anticipated the pain the simple movement caused, pain so far beyond anything he already was experiencing, that it almost blackened him out immediately.

Only it didn't, not completely. By the time the dark spots dancing in front of his eyes receded again he was acutely aware of his brother's voice, suddenly there, far too close to his ears. Then a sudden shift in the mattress as Sam leaned onto the bed next to him, gentle but strong hands holding onto his shoulders, trying to keep him steady and pull him out of his misery.

It would have all been good and wonderful, had not the slight shift the mattress made under Sam's weight sent a wave of blinding pain and nausea through Dean and there was just so much he could do to fight off his brother's protective grasp and roll onto his side again, clearing the sheets and blankets by mere inches before beginning to retch violently.

How Sam could react as quickly as he did would remain a mystery to Dean, or maybe he just wasn't quite as quick in his own movements as he had thought, but within seconds he was aware of a plastic trash-can being pushed underneath his face, while at the same time those big, warm hands never ceased to hold him, steady him.

He started retching helplessly, painfully and while there was nothing much left in his stomach to bring back up he still couldn't make himself stop.

A strong arm snaked across his chest, holding both his arms and shoulders tight as well, keeping him from slipping off the mattress with the violence of tremors and heaves raking through him. Another hand lay lightly on his back, right between the shoulder-blades, rubbing soothing circles on his goose-bumped but sweaty skin. At first the touch was oppressing, confiding, but after a couple of minutes it actually felt good, reassuring and while his body still dry-heaved and shook beyond control he felt his muscles gradually relaxing into the touch, giving himself up to the sensation.

When the attack finally eased in its violence, Dean was all but spent, completely out of breath and in too much pain to do much else besides stay where he was, begging his body to please, finally, give up the fight and just release him into unconsciousness again.

Every single muscle of his body was trembling still, contorting from the lack of oxygen, screaming for relive.

The hand on his back gradually eased upwards, towards his neck, starting the rubbing motion there, gently massaging the bulk of cramped up muscles, easing the pain away bit by bit. He felt tears well up in his eyes, sired by pain and exhaustion and maybe even relieve but there was no way to hold them back, really, so he just hoped that they would dry up before he had to face his brother again.

How long they stayed that way Dean honestly couldn't tell but when finally Sam lifted his way too heavy body back into a semi-comfortable position, he felt just a tiny bit better, and that actually was so much more than he could have asked for at the moment.

He was dimly aware of Sam talking to him, and while he couldn't quite make out the words he thought he knew what Sammy was trying to tell him.

_It's ok, I've got you. Don't worry, everything will be alright. I'm right here…right here._

Words that had been spoken by both of them to the other on more occasions than one, words that still never quite lost their importance. Because as long as the other was there to say them, it really would be alright in the end.

He resigned himself to be manhandled by his little brother, who rearranged his limbs and blankets, a warm and slightly damp cloth brushing his face to wipe away the cold sweat that had broken out through every available pore during his little attack. At some point he drank something warm and sweet that helped sooth his raw throat but was definitely _not _coffee, swallowing dutifully until he started coughing again. He downed some pills, too and he knew that it would only be a matter of time now, until the painkillers would take him under, carry him away.

His breathing was almost back to "normal" now and it took him a while to realize that the shivering had been reduced to a somewhat bearable level. Muscles still screaming but now he though that he maybe, just maybe would live to see the end of this.

All he wanted to do was finally be able to go to sleep, deep, undisturbed sleep that promised salvation but it still took almost an hour before his body at last relaxed enough to let him slip off to sweet oblivion.

The last thing he was aware off was his brother's ever soothing voice and that made letting go so much easier. At least he knew that Sammy had his back, kept him safe, would be there when he woke up again.

Always.

XxxXXXxxxXXXxxxXXXxxx

"Man…you look like shit…"

Sam basically jumped at the sound of his brother's voice as it ripped him out of a state somewhere between sleep and awareness. He heard a distinct snap in his neck as his head came up from the back of the hard chair he sat slumped in with a start, the laptop still open in front of him on the table, where he had tried desperately to stay awake for the past hours.

_Well, that seemed to have worked pretty well now, hadn't it?_

He blinked rapidly a couple of times, rubbed his knuckles over his eyes until he was sure they were going to pop out of their sockets while at the same time attempting to get up on still wobbly legs to make it over to his brother's bed.

A couple of shuffling steps later he flopped unceremoniously down on the floor in between the two queens, his back resting against his own abandoned mattress, facing his brother. He had to clear his voice a couple of times before even wanting to attempt to talk to Dean, who lay curled up awkwardly on his right side, covered to the tip of his nose with blankets and a comforter, only his a little too bright green eyes and the plastered down shock of short, messed up hair sticking out from underneath the comfortable shelter he had created for himself.

Sam had to clear his sleep-clogged voice again before he managed to finally answer his brother.

"Well, sleeping beauty, don't know if you noticed…but you don't look too hot there yourself…"

But he delivered the line with a sincere smile that betrayed the gruffness of the words all too clearly.

Dean made a face at that, or at least Sam hoped that he had just tried to, because the grimace that adorned his brother's features could really be read both ways. Immediately, he was back to his worried expression as he leaned slightly forward, scanning Dean's face more closely.

"How are you feeling, Dean? And don't tell me you're fine, because you can't quite sell that right now!"

"I'm good, Sammy…quit worrying." But Dean's eyes had closed again and his voice was so frighteningly small and thin, it made a chill run up and down Sam's spine.

"You wanna try saying that again? And while you're at it, you might wanna consider not looking like you're going to pass out the minute you say it. Might make it a little more convincing."

Dean cracked an eye open at that, giving Sam a glare – or something very close to a glare before puffing out his lips in mock protest and if he didn't look just like a four-year-old right then and there Sam didn't know.

"Well…I'm fairly warm…and dry…" _and not locked in a shaft with some crazy ghost-chick, but my brother watching over me instead… _"So yeah, I think…I'm fine…kind of."

Sam nodded at that. He knew where it was coming from and there really was no arguing with Dean on this. He heard the unspoken words between the spoken ones, as clear as day.

Dean could be in pain far worse than this and still swear on his life that he was fine. And while that might not have been the entire truth, physically speaking, Sam knew that it wasn't a complete lie either. To Dean being fine had not only to do with pain and hurt in the physical sense. As weird as it might sound, in his brother's twisted brain it really was alright, as long as Sam was safe. As long as he wasn't alone.

"Poor animal…died on you head…?"

_Ah hell…what a blast. _Beat as hell and still trying to be funny. That and trying to make light of a situation that so clearly was anything but.

Sam shook his head, raked long fingers through his tousled mop of hair, trying to get it back under control. Not falling for the bait.

"How's the pain?"

Dean seemed to consider that for a moment, probably contemplating if and how much he could lie to Sammy about it.

"It's doing great…"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Sam forced himself to stay calm and not shake some sense into his brother right then and there.

"Just…it seems to be having a hell of a time…celebrating that party in my head…and everywhere else for that matter!"

The smirk that followed was already so much like the "normal" Dean that Sam couldn't help but grin before pushing his still far too tired body from the floor and the edge of the bed, snatching the first aid kit from the nightstand where he had left it the night before and quickly rummaging through it.

"How about your arm? And your ribs…I didn't get to check them out properly but at least two or three seem to be cracked…probably hurts like hell, hmm?!"

When Dean grunted at the statement Sam winced in sympathy, finally found the bottle of pain killers and shook two out into his palm. A half-full cup of tea was also still on the nightstand, cold already but enough to wash down the medicine.

"Here, you should probably sit up taking them?"

Dean struggled his way out from underneath the multiple layers of blankets, pushed himself into a semi upright position with only a little help from Sam and just a few painful moans when his chest protested the movements too fiercely. He gulped down the offered pills quickly before ducking back under the blankets again, already more asleep than awake.

"You should sleep too…you look exhausted…"

This remark was genuine, no sign of teasing in Dean's voice, just plain worry for his brother's well being.

"Yeah, well, that's what worrying yourself sick over your stubborn older brother will do to you, you know?" Sam whispered under his breath, voice low enough so Dean wouldn't hear it.

Within minutes, Dean's breathing had evened out, the slight hitches still breaking the steady rhythm becoming farther and farther in between.

Sam stayed next to the bed for another couple of minutes, watching Dean rest more or less peacefully, fighting the urge to reach out and feel Dean's forehead, brush those stubborn strands of hair off and away from it, do something, anything at all. Just touch him to make sure he was still real…that he was still there, not just something his tired mind made up to stay sane. But of course that was definitely out of the question now that Dean was again remotely aware.

_No chick-flick-moments. _Dean's favourite line.

Sure enough, after a minute or two of him just staring at his brother's huddled form, still slightly shivering every once in a while, his brows drawing together occasionally as if fighting off another bout of splitting headache, a painful breath, Dean again cracked an eye open, looking him straight in the eye.

"Something else…I can do for you? You wanna get into my pants again?"

"I _had _to take them off, Dean. They were soaked… You know what, never mind…"

He pushed himself off the floor and before Dean could react Sam leaned in close to his brother and brushed a hand over his forehead, ruffled long fingers lightly through his hair. At the horrified look that drew out of Dean Sam couldn't help but laugh, the first real, heartfelt laugh in a long time now.

"Don't get your panties in a knot there. You're not as irresistible as you think."

Dean raised an eyebrow at him, the right one, deciding to keep the left side of his face as still as possible, puffed his lips in another exaggerated pout.

"I know a whole lot of ladies…who'd tell you different…"

"Sure, Dean, whatever helps you get through the day!"

"Jealous much, Sammy…?"

"Yeah, yeah, you wish… That concussion must be worse than I thought…"

"Bitch…"

"Jerk!"

xxxXXXxxxXXXxxxXXXxxx

Sam watched Dean struggling to put on his jeans. Not an easy feat with just one hand free and a banged up chest and side but of course his brother simply refused any help in that department. Yet it was just a matter of time, really, because as much as Sam envied his brother's stubbornness he knew that, once it came to buttoning up the fly he'd be at his mercy.

"I'm not even going to ask how I got into these new boxers." Dean grumbled between clenched teeth, loud enough for Sam to hear, clearly intended that way.

"You're my brother, Dean. Nothing I haven't seen before."

And then, as an afterthought, Sam added with a mischievous grin:

"Besides, you were really, really cold…if you know what I mean…"

"Awww…shut up Sam. That's just so low…"

Sam grinned openly at that.

Once they had gotten the jeans-business out of the way – and it definitely wasn't all nice words being exchanged throughout - Sam again resigned himself to watch Dean struggle with his t-shirt and one of Sam's hoodies. It had to be painful going, his ribs cracked and sore as they were but he did manage somehow and if you simply overheard the hisses and grunts and some pretty ugly expletives it was a somewhat comical sight, too.

The hoodie Sam had given his brother was big even on himself, on Dean it looked outright huge and if it hadn't been for the fact that Dean looked so damn pale and vulnerable still, wrapped up in the jacket hugging it close to his still too cold body, he would have laughed.

Once this task was completed Sam ordered Dean to rest some more, pretending that he needed to get some things ready first which in reality he'd packed hours ago already. Letting his brother wind back down.

For another hour he simply sat and waited, too tired to actually go to sleep himself. He watched his brother sleep, watched the steady rise and fall of his chest and once more wished that just for once something would turn out to go as planned for them. That their lives weren't as screwed up as they were. That he wouldn't need to worry about his brother safety and welfare all the time. That he himself wasn't the reason that Dean beat himself up constantly, pushed himself beyond his limits. The pressure of his dad's confession wearing his brother down, made him uncareful, reckless even at times about things that concerned his own safety.

Sure, this situation right now had nothing at all to do with all that. But it was all just a constant circle, really. A damn downward spiral ever since their dad had died, leaving them to fend for themselves, leaving Dean to watch out for his baby brother once again. Leaving Sam to watch out for Dean as well, but having to be so much more subtle in doing so.

For about the millionth time Sam wondered what would have happened…what if their dad hadn't made the deal. If Dean had actually died…

_NO_, not going there, not again. During the past months those thoughts had plagued him time and time again, had refused to let him go completely.

He loved his dad…despite everything that had been going on between them, despite all the harsh words, the spoken and unspoken warfare, he had still loved him. He had done everything he could…Sam knew that.

Dean had always told him that he and Dad were too much alike, that they both were stubborn to the core and that was the reason they just couldn't be with each other without picking a fight.

It was funny, really, because the last thing Sam would have thought was of him and Dad being alike, at all. But maybe, just maybe…Dean might have been right.

Still, Dad had died, had saved Dean's life in doing so and for that Sam loved him even more. Even though he despised the guilt this put on his brother, but still… Life without Dad was tough, but he could deal. Barely so but he thought that with time, he'd come to terms with it. It would be a hell of a lot harder on his brother, Sam knew that, but eventually Dean would learn, too.

But life without his big brother…there just would be no point. Sure, Dean had come and gotten him back, had taken the life he had wanted away from him. But the truth was that he had never felt quite…whole during his years at college. Stanford had been great, he had loved this life, had loved Jess with all his heart…but something had still been missing.

And it hadn't been dad.

Sam dropped his face in his hands, rubbing his eyes viciously. Everything to stop looking at Dean to stop seeing him, just for a minute. It was hard enough when Dean was awake and well but then at least he would try to put on a show. When asleep or when hurt all bets were off, though, his defenses down, open and vulnerable as he would never ever let himself be when awake and aware.

Sometimes Sam just couldn't stand seeing him, truly seeing him, it hurt so much.

_Get a grip, Sam. It's your turn to watch out for him now. Your chance for paying him back for all these years... Not going to help him when you're breaking apart yourself._

Another rub over his face, fingers raking through his hair before he pushed his weary body off the bed to grab their things. He went to the Impala, dumping everything in, starting the engine to let the interior of the cab warm up.

Back inside he crouched down next to his brother's bed, gently putting a hand on his shoulder. Not putting any pressure on it, just simply letting it lie there, letting his brother wake up in his own time. Dean appeared a bit groggy and disoriented at first, but he got himself under control pretty quickly and Sam sighed with relieve. At least his head didn't seem to be too messed up…nothing beyond the usual anyway.

"Where 'r we going?"

"We'll have to get you checked out, dude. Everything else I could take care of, but your arm looks pretty bad. There is this clinic two towns away. We'll get some x-rays and a cast and then we'll be on our way. I promise."

Effectively cutting off any discussion of whether or not Dean wanted to go, because he knew his brother would definitely _not_ want to go, no matter how much pain he was in. So not giving him a choice was the best way to deal with this.

And maybe it was a good thing that Dean was still not completely on top of his game, because he didn't really protest, only muttered under his breath while Sam helped him get up and his shoes on. Dean turned back once to look for his knife, which Sam hadn't put back to its dedicated spot underneath Dean's pillow. That earned Sam some mumbled and slightly incoherent reproaches, but the younger hunter finally was able to persuade his brother that he really didn't need a knife right now, not when going to the hospital. And considering the way his hands were still slightly unsteady it most definitely wouldn't be good to have him handle one right now anyway.

Dean grunted something and even though Sam didn't understand completely, he was pretty sure of the meaning but generously chose to ignore it and gently but decisively ushered his brother into his beloved car, taking off towards the hospital.

xxxXXXxxxXXXxxxXXXxxx

_AN:_

_So, once again, thanks for all the support, you guys are awesome!_

_I'm going to do you a favour and cut the note short here…it's my birthday today and therefore I'm off to celebrate…_

_As always…reviews are more than welcome!_

_Cheers!_


	6. Chapter 6

_Thanks to everybody out there sending me birthday wishes last week and made me the great present of a review…you guys simply blow me away!_

_So, this chapter is going to be a bit shorter than usual…I had it done about twice as long but I usually read through it, do some damage control, that kind of thing, before I post it. _

_Today turned out a bit busier than I had anticipated, that's why I decided to cut this chapter up and post it in two parts so I won't keep you waiting for too long._

_The next part will be up in a couple of days though – I won't take a whole week till I post that one – promise!_

_OK, hope you enjoy!_

Chapter 6

There were times when Sam simply wanted to slap his brother. Tie him up and beat some common sense into him. He'd never met a more stubborn, hard-headed person in his whole life…well, besides their father, maybe. It had to pass down through generations, right? All Sam wanted to do right now, was take Dean and carry the stupid sob into the OR himself. Knock him out first, then get him in there and strapped down so he'd let the doctor do his work.

But of course – he did nothing. As always, Dean had won. At least they had actually made it to the hospital, some two hours away from their current motel-address and that was at least something. Sam had been a little surprised when Dean had only argued about going once or twice and both times his heart hadn't been into the argument. It really had just been to keep his façade in place and Dean had to have known that Sam saw right through it.

Hell, there was no way his brother could have hidden the pain he was in, even though he did try – he _was_ Dean after all, but by the time his temperature had climbed back up to fairly normal, the pain in his arm had gotten considerably worse. So much so that Dean actually admitted to it, which was a little worrying in itself, and by the time the painkillers did nothing but take the worst edge off his agonies Sam had practically thrown a slightly protesting but still all too willingly trudging along big brother into the car and driven the two hours to the next hospital.

Everything had gone well at first, they'd x-rayed his ribs and head and found that other than three cracked ribs and a pretty ugly concussion Dean had really been lucky. After being thrown down a 30 feet deep shaft one would expect far more serious injuries than he had acquired. Not to talk about whatever else had happened to him, things that Sam had no idea about as of yet.

Of course, the doctors didn't know that part. The skin abrasions were again taken care of, the head wounds stitched up and since Sam had filled out the required forms and had promised to pay in cash, nobody seemed to care about their identities much, either.

Then they had come to the business with his arm and that's when it all started.

About two hours earlier:

The doctor came back into the room, a couple of x-rays in hand, immediately going over to the opposite side of the room and switching the light in the showcase on. He sifted through the exposures, chose two and attached them to the case, finally turning around to face the brothers.

"Well, looks like you took a mighty good tumble down that hillside, if you ask me…"

Dean smirked at the comment, shot Sam a look.

"'t was more like a real rocky slope…"

"Yeah, I can see that. I got your x-rays now and it is as we suspected…"

He took a pen out of his breast-pocket, pointing it to a spot in the picture that clearly showed the left side of Dean's ribcage.

"Nothing's broken, but as you can see here and here, we've got three cracks that might have to do with the little breathing troubles you have been experiencing lately."

Was he trying to be funny? Because Dean sure didn't see it that way. He looked over at his brother again, all raised eyebrows despite the painful gash on his forehead. Some things you just had to ignore every once in a while.

"Nothing we can do about this, really, so we'll have you bandaged up tightly for a couple of weeks and you'll be as good as new."

Dean nodded gravely, telling himself that he probably had experienced more broken ribs in his "career" as a hunter than the doctor had treated during his' as a doctor.

"What about the arm?" Sam asked cautiously from his post next to the gurney Dean was currently lying on.

The doctor exchanged the pictures on the board with the two others he had brought in, studied them for a moment.

You didn't need to be a doctor to see the damage done there right away. Dean could hear Sam take a sharp breath next to him and proceeded to stare right at the offending picture. That really didn't look all that good, not that he had expected anything else, but still…

"The ulna right here is broken twice." The doctor indicated the fractures with his pen.

God, that was one hell of an annoying habit. Like a teacher in school, pointing at the chalkboard. And Dean had never much liked teachers to start with.

"The first fracture is here, right below the carpal bones, the other one about halfway down to the elbow. Both fractures are not completely smooth, out of alignment, too. But they should heal nicely over time. We'll need to correct the bones to fit together again correctly, then attach a disc to the bone…"

"Whoa, hold on a minute. What exactly are you talking about? How in hell are you going to fix a _disc_ to my bone?"

Dean had pushed himself up, despite his protesting ribs, ready to jump the men and Sam quickly moved closer to his brother, put a restraining hand on his shoulder. Dean took a deep breath, mimicking his brother who urged him to it as if Dean was a mother giving birth or something.

"OK, doc. What exactly are we talking about here – surgery?"

Dean thought he'd done a pretty good job in keeping his voice even. Judging from the look Sam gave him, maybe not, though.

"Well, we do need to fix those two fractures, or else you will never be able to use your arm or hand properly ever again. So yes, we need to perform surgery, get the bones back in place and fix a plate to the bone to fixate it."

Dean thought he might feel himself pale at the thought. Funny, how the thought of having surgery could freak him out like that – after everything he had seen and done in his life. Luckily Sam intervened, stepping a bit closer to his brother as if to reassure him at the same time as holding him back.

"And there is no other way? No way to fix this without surgery?"

When the doctor looked at Sam a bit confused his brother added quickly:

"It's just…we do have a little insurance-problem, if you know what I mean…" _That and a little trouble with the FBI…_

"If there is any other way that would work too…"

Dean was actually relieved that Sam took over that part of it. He might not have been so subtle.

"Well…we could try to set the bone as it is…the problem is that with this kind of swelling it will be hard to get it back in its proper place. It will all depend on if it stays in place after, too. We could try, of course, and if it stays…still it's really not something I would suggest you to consider. I would really recommend that you think about this carefully. Surgery would be the better, more reliable and definitely less painful option."

Dean was about to throw a macho remark at the doctor, something like "pain is not a problem" or the like, but he thought better of it when he saw Sam's warning eyes bore into his.

_Kid always seems to know just what I'm thinking…not all that surprising really, considerin__g he's freaking Haley Joel Osment in a 6'4 frame…_

"So, you're saying, you could fix it, maybe, right? What if it doesn't work? Will you still be able to operate, after? Would it still heal as well as if you'd do it right away?" Sam implored carefully but with a voice that clearly implied the urgency.

The doc apparently needed to think some about that…no doubt considering the insurance-problem they had mentioned earlier, too, studying the x-rays some more before turning towards them again, looking at Sam, for whatever reason. Dean suspected it had something to do with him looking as if he might jump the good doctor should he say something he didn't like to hear.

"Well…" the doctor started thoughtfully.

OK, so the bone in Dean's lower arm was broken – no surprise there. Two times in fact and while that sure wasn't something they dealt with every day it still didn't have them worried all that much. They had expected a cast and some shots and that should have been the end of it.

Sam really didn't care to reflect on the argument he and Dean had gotten into over the suggestion of the surgery, even after the other option had been raised and approved of, kind of, by the doctor.

Still Sam thought it better to go with the original plan, wanted to spare his brother any extra pain and the still impending possibility that it might not work, after all, that they'd still have to go through with this in the end.

But Dean had insisted that he wouldn't take it, that he'd leave right now and just keep the arm still for some time, let it heal by himself.

"_Not the first time we handle something like this ourselves…probably not the last, either. I can handle it, Sam. Trust me!"_

_Stupid, stubborn, proud, hard headed big brother_. Sam just _so_ had it with him, for real! So yeah, Dean hated hospitals, who didn't, but this was a little bit intense, even for him.

Ever since the car-crash…the coma…their dad. It had just somehow gotten a little worse after. And now the simple thought of having surgery done, staying in the hospital for one, maybe two nights at the most, freaked his brother out big time. It had to have to do with the reaper, the one Dean didn't actually remember ever encountering but Sam knew about through the séance they'd held. Maybe that still did stick somewhere in the back of his mind, didn't let him go. And Sam had to admit that he himself was a little freaked just thinking about it.

But this was just some simple surgery, right? Nothing life-threatening.

Still, Dean had kept insisting, at one part actually begging, almost, and at some point Sam felt so bad for his brother he had finally given in, over much heartache and worry, had agreed to support his brother in his stupid quest for ill-placed heroism.

Not that Dean needed his approval. Sam was pretty sure that Dean would have gotten his wish, one way or the other.

So they set the bone…no surgery.

And damn, did it turn out to be a bad idea – at least from Sam's point of view and he was actually pretty sure that Dean might have agreed with him too, just this once, had he not been so goddamn stubborn. Because as sure as anything, Dean had also insisted that he didn't need any additional pain medication, that he'd be able to handle it. Sam had only been able to force some Tylenol on him, but those didn't really do much good with something like this. That, plus some very low-key, local anaesthesia which apparently didn't really help much, either.

Right now Dean did look as if he might regret being so stubborn. Big time.

To give him credit, he didn't say one word, didn't complain once. But the sight of his brother paling to two shades below white, then some weird off-coloured green, beads of sweat breaking out on his upper lip, his forehead, his throat and neck, made Sam believe that he might just be a tiny bit unhappy with his macho-like behaviour right about now.

Sam stood by and watched, from the sideline, as the doctor and two orderlies worked on setting the bone, pulling and turning and it almost felt like they were doing it to him instead of Dean, so much did he feel with his brother, did he mirror the pain that was so openly radiating from Dean's pinched but locked up features. His left hand held a death grip on the side of the gurney, muscles rippling and jumping underneath his clammy skin.

Sam could do nothing but watch his brother fight, battle down the urge to cry out in pain, to lash out and get up and out of here as fast as he could. Every single muscle in his body tensed to the uttermost extend, trembling from the effort, a mirror image from just a few hours ago, when the cold had cramped his body up to it's breaking point.

His eyes stayed open throughout, locked onto something Sam couldn't see, blinking rapidly a couple of times when the pain seemed to be getting too much before getting himself under control again while his jaw clenched, nostrils flaring. His lips moved ever so slightly and Sam knew what his brother was doing, had been doing all his life whenever in pain and needing to hold back on it, unable to show his agonies in front of his father or Sam.

He was pulling away mentally, focusing all his senses, every bit of strength he could muster, on something else, anything at all to take his mind off the pain, the situation at hand. It could be anything from recounting an exorcism, naming every single piece of machinery in his beloved car, humming some rock song in his mind, sometimes even out loud.

Sam remembered, once, Dean learning some sort of poem he was supposed to have learned for school, but had never gotten around to memorizing completely. The claws of a werewolf and the following administrations of his brother and father made him learn the whole thing within the course of an hour, all 25 verses of it, never to be forgotten again. Sam had teased him about it some years later and had been surprised to find that Dean could still rattle of the entire poem without so much as stopping to think once.

Sam envied his brother's stoicism to some extend, wished he would be able to push back his own feelings of dread and fear as well as his brother yet at the same time cursing Dean for just this trait, too.

As he watched the doctors work on his brother he couldn't get the image of someone trying to wrench Dean's arm off out of his mind and had to swallow hard at the thought of how much this must be hurting his brother for him to be spaced out the way he was now. He just couldn't stand the thought of Dean being like that anymore, not after the past hours of fear and uncertainty, of him being too out of it to take notice of anything besides whatever nightmare his mind was subjecting him to over and over again.

When finally the doctor and orderlies were finished torturing his brother their faces betrayed nothing as to whether or not they were satisfied with the outcome of their treatment. They carefully bedded the tortured limb into a padded cast-like form, so Dean wouldn't be able to move it, but not putting it in a regular cast just now.

"We'll let it rest now for a bit, cool it down to get the swelling under control. I'd say we give it about an hour, then we'll take him down to x-ray it again, make sure it worked and everything is where it should be before putting it in a proper cast."

The doctor took off his gloves, threw them in the trash-bin next to the bed, looking at Sam expectantly. Again not addressing Dean directly, and Sam wondered why that was the case.

Sam nodded, a little dizzy still, looked at Dean who had finally relented, had closed his eyes and had rested back against the pillows one of the nurses had stuffed behind his back. He looked awfully pale, jaw still clenched, long, dark lashes gathered into bunches by thick beads of sweat that occasionally dripped down onto his face like tears, trailing a slow path across his damp face.

Sam could barely resist the urge to reach out and wipe them away, was sure his brother would have done so himself, had he not been too intend on keeping it together, on pushing the pain back towards the deepest recesses of his mind and come out of this steeled and whole again.

The doc leaned closer to Dean, putting a hand on his patient's shoulder, withdrew it again quickly when Dean jumped at the unexpected touch, bloodshot eyes tearing open to seek out his "attacker". Sam was about to intervene, jump to the doctor's rescue, when the wild look in Dean's eyes left again, as if a switch had been pushed, his gaze once again locked up and carefully guarded.

"Sorry…startled me…"

Dean's voice was low and cracked and it tore at Sam's heart to hear him like that yet again, almost like back at the motel, when he had begged Sam to _please, make it stop._

"You did good…didn't think you'd go all the way through with this, to be honest with you. But we're done now…can't tell you for sure if it worked, but it does look promising. You should rest a while, drink something, make sure your circulation doesn't crash after all you've been through. Just try and not move the arm, at all. We should really try to keep everything in place so we don't have to do that again…"

Dean huffed a little at that – apparently an attempt at humour from the doctor he even appreciated under the circumstances – and settled back down as good as possible.

Sam didn't know what to do with himself, standing worn and beaten by the window, waiting for his brother to do something – say something. How the hell was it that now finally he started to appreciate his brother's out of place humour, by the way? He really wished Dean would crack some lame joke right about now, lighten the mood a bit.

Sam was so enthralled by his own thoughts that he almost jumped as Dean suddenly talked to him, voice a little rusty but OK, generally speaking.

"Sammy…you might wanna sit down for a minute. You do look a bit white around the nose there…"

A raised eyebrow and lopsided grin accompanied the remark and Sam found himself smiling tiredly as he unceremoniously flopped down in the chair next to Dean's gurney.

"You could use a little make up yourself, Dean. All that ghostly white…no wonder Isabella took you for one of her own kin…!"

"Ha freaking ha, Sammy!"

"It's Sam." He replied automatically, even though he knew better.

"Not for me, it's not."

XxxXXXxxxXXXxxxXXXxxx

Tbc

_AN: _

_Alright, let me just explain the story with Dean's arm…it might sound a bit unrealistic, but the whole situation is actually taken from real experience, fortunately not personal…_

_Last summer, I spent a week in hospital – had surgery on my knee – and my room-neighbour had a broken arm, the same kind I let Dean suffer from in this story. _

_Now she of course could have had surgery – in my country fortunately insurance is not an issue - but she had this __heart condition, I think, or some kind of allergy which made it really dangerous for her to have anaesthesia…so they tried to and eventually succeeded in setting the bone without having to operate._

_And god, she was like the toughest person I have ever met because she just had to be in so much pain and still…_

_While I don't think I personally would ever go through with any of this, I am pretty sure Dean would be able to take it…and the whole situation fascinated me enough to want to write it into a story…_

_Please don't ask me what kind of condition she had – I have no idea – unfortunately I am a selfish bastard and had to deal with my own problems for a while and when I got better she was gone already, but just to show you…it actually would work like this…or __at least it did with my roommate._

_I hope I kept the boys in character and didn't overdo it in any part of the story so far. _

_xx_

_Ok, that said – thanks to all you guys who take the time to read and a special thanks to those who take the additional couple of minutes to drop me a review!_

_So, hope to hear from you soon! Take care!_


	7. Chapter 7

_Hey guys...hope I didn't keep you waiting too long...here's the next chapter. Enjoy!_

Chapter 7

One of the nurses came in a couple of minutes after the doctor had finished with Dean. She was petite and blonde and Dean couldn't help himself but smile brightly at her - old habits die hard - which made her blush and unconsciously tug at her skirt as she prepared some syringes on the small table next to the bed.

Sam rolled his eyes at Dean but had enough sense to straighten out his face by the time she turned around to give him an injection that she swore was just some antibiotics to prevent infection and control the swelling. Dean earnestly suspected some foul play, but didn't find it in him to delve deeper into the topic. He was seriously starting to doubt his need to play the hero here, anyway.

The nurse then placed some ice-packs on Dean's arm to further get the swelling down and it actually took all of his self-control not to flinch away from the icy coldness she subjected him to – again, his flirtatious smile all but gone now.

_Well, lady, not going to work. Been there, done that._

He could see Sam cringing at it, too and it somehow made him feel better, knowing that his brother was there, sharing the pain and discomfort with him. However unfair that was.

Once she was gone again Sam pulled a bottle of soda out of his duffel, opened the cap for him and handed it over.

"Here, you heard the doctor. Better drink a little. Keep you hydrated."

"Thanks dude. You know, the motherly act kind of suits you…"

But he _was_ thankful, really, because truth was he was thirsty as hell and since he was not going to get something to drink for himself any time soon he actually depended on his little brother to help him right now. It was a strange feeling, being so helpless and dependant on someone, in the physical sense at least. Mentally, he'd always needed his brother to keep him sane…

Damn it hurt…his whole arm throbbing, not being too subtle about it. He really wanted to curse himself for being so damn macho and not accepting any additional pain meds than the few pills he'd swallowed earlier. But of course he wasn't going to admit that, it would only get Sam all worked up, so he sucked it up.

_His own goddamn fault anyway._

He knew Sammy was wrecking his brain to say something, subtlety never had been his strong feet – not as a kid and certainly not now. Only that he seemed to be pretty good in bringing it on when talking to some of the victims family members they talked to…only not when it came to dealing with his own brother…

Sam cleared his throat, apparently preparing himself, so Dean did the same.

_What now? Another rant about how stupid he was for acting strong like that? _

Even if he might deserve it, just a little bit…

But Dean thought that a little argument with his brother might actually help his mind focus on something else than his current predicament and that was always welcome.

"So, Dean, you wanna tell me what happened now?"

_Ah, here we go. _

But he knew where it was coming from. Sam wanted to help him, distract him from the pain. Maybe there was the upside to having a psychic brother, however multifaceted the downsides, right there.

Dean took a minute to collect himself, sort out his scrambled thoughts. He'd known that he'd have to explain, eventually, had had some time to think about it, too. Still it didn't make it any easier to put it into words, to vocalize what he himself still had trouble comprehending at the moment.

Sam didn't push him, just sat there next to him, waiting.

"Well, you know…I don't really remember anything from before I woke up in that hole…don't know how I got down there in the first place, but looking at the nice skin-peel I've got I'm thinking she actually dropped me down there…"

Unconsciously he rotated his shoulder, felt the pull of tight skin along his shoulder and upper arm, knowing the bruising to run right down to his hip. He had no idea how she had managed to get him there, open the lock and drop him in there… But maybe it wasn't so bad that he couldn't remember this part of it. God knew he remembered plenty of the rest as it was.

Sam waited for him to continue, patiently, not pressing him.

"When I woke up…I don't know. She wasn't there, Isabella I mean…left me on my own for a while, don't really know how long but it did feel like an eternity. Not that I knew, then…I mean I didn't remember it had been her who had taken me at that point. Must have knocked me out or something. I've been trying to find a way out, tried to climb up the wall but fell…that's when I hurt my arm. It was so damn cold…I think I fell asleep, or passed out or whatever – I had been trying to dig out that door down there but must have dozed off or something. When I woke up I could feel her, all that ghostly chill and everything. And then…"

He let his voice drift off, didn't really want to talk about it. It was so hard to describe what he had felt, so hard to put what had happened into simple words. Make Sam understand. The way she had touched him…nobody had ever touched him like that before, ever – not even Cassie… Not that the feeling had been something he longed to feel again, but for a little while…all that hope and love and desperation… It had made him feel for her, ache for her while at the same time it had repulsed him.

All that pain that had radiated off her, the cold. The freaking cold… It had almost felt like she needed his strength to transport some of her own feelings, her own pain and fear right back to him. As if unconsciously she had wanted to show him, make him feel something she had felt, too.

"Dean…?"

He started at the voice, unclenching the fist he had unconsciously formed with his left hand, smoothing out his face.

_How to make Sam understand?_

"I'm not sure…it was so…I just don't know. She talked to me as if she knew me?! As if she had been looking for me and now that she'd found me… She said something about never letting me go again."

"So what happened?"

Sam had toned his voice down to match his brother's low, almost whispering one, drawing Dean back when he thought he was going to drift off.

"I honestly don't know. I mean, one moment she was all gentle and loving and the next…must have pissed her off, somehow…she went all feral, tossed me around and then…"

Dean realized too late that he actually groaned out at the memory, his eyes squeezing shut at the memory, as if he'd just recalled what she'd done to him. That feeling… The feeling of her hand over his heart. Almost like the Rawhead, the electrocution all over again. The helplessness and pain and fear…fear of not getting out of this, not this time. Too many _get-out-of-prison-cards_ cashed in already. And the worst of it had been knowing that he'd be alone, his dad gone, because of him, but even worse – Sam not there. No doubt out looking for him but not getting to him in time. Not this time.

And then, later, when he actually had woken up again, the water. As if everything else hadn't been enough. As if disconnecting him from his brother, pushing him around some, stopping his heart hadn't been enough of a punishment already. Someone with a freaking sick sense of humour deciding that Dean Winchester wouldn't get out of it this easily.

So he was killed again.

Another slow, agonizing death. One that lasted far longer, one that made him fight and hope and fight some more till the end.

A heavy hand clamped down on his shoulder, gripping him hard but gently at the same time and he easily recognised the hand as Sam's.

_Damn didn't he just take every freaking opportunity to get all touchy-feely? _

_And didn't he do it at just the right moment, too?_

Dean drew in a shuddering breath, straightening himself.

How the hell could he tell Sam all that had happened? He couldn't really put it into simple enough words for himself to completely comprehend all that he was feeling. How could he make his brother understand then?

"She filled the shaft with water, don't know how she did it. But next thing I know is I'm swimming, like for an eternity, then going under and then I kicked in the window and then I thought I…I drowned. I thought I died. Don't know how or why the water was shut off after…but the next thing I know, you are there…"

These were the basics and right now Dean didn't think that Sam needed to know all the details spelled out to him. He was the freaking psychic. Let him figure out the rest by himself.

And sure enough Sam nodded, as if understanding, as if he knew, clearing his throat, most definitely a bit unsure of how to say whatever he was going to say next. Afraid of how it would sound when it came out.

"I…felt it, you know? I was on the premises, checking out all those places, looking for you when I had this…not a vision but rather…it was as if I was feeling what you were feeling, I think..."

At the shocked expression this drew out of Dean Sam added quickly:

"Just for a couple of seconds I had this feeling…like…drowning, I guess…you know? The water all around and the cold and pain and then everything went black. It didn't feel like the other visions, the ones about Yellow eyes. Not like something that was going to happen in the future but as if it was happening right then and there. Like you were projecting it towards me in a way…"

Sam carefully avoided direct eye-contact with his brother. And because Dean knew that Sam was worried plenty as it was without him going all crazy on his little brother, Dean decided to tone his reaction down a bit, to give Sam the benefit of a doubt.

"Aw, Sammy, I don't know. How do you suppose I should have done that? You telling me that now I got the shining, too?"

Sam shrugged, running long fingers through his hair distractedly.

"Don't know for sure but maybe, you know, it was not a conscious thing… Either way it helped me find you, so it was a good thing after all, right?"

Now how could Dean argue with that.

At least for once those freakish psychic powers were working for them, personally, too.

For a couple of minutes everything was quiet again, but it wasn't uncomfortable at all. Dean gradually felt himself relax. His arm still throbbed ferociously but the ice actually did seem to have an effect now, numbing the limb just enough to tone the pain down to a somewhat bearable level. And he could have sworn that this injection the nurse had given him had done more than just kill some germs in his body… No way to prove it, though, and right now he honestly couldn't have cared less, either.

He was itching to tell Sam thank you or something the like but that somehow didn't seem to be enough so he chose to say nothing at all for the moment. He'd find a way to let his brother know in time. If he didn't know already.

"You know, I kind of think that that trick with the water…it probably means something. To her it has to be important for some reason. What I'm remembering is that…at first she was all gentle and clingy and then…she started getting angry and worked up when I pushed her away from me. She knocked me out cold and when I woke up again the water was already running…"

Sam seemed to be thankful for the change in direction, zoning back in on the case at hand. Because that was what it was…a case. A case striking dangerously close to home, but a case nonetheless. And that both of them knew how to deal with…better than the emotional department, anyway.

"Do you remember what exactly she said to you, before she got angry?"

Dean thought about that for a minute, trying to remember the words right.

"She said something about me coming back…said she wouldn't let me leave her again… You know, I thought about this some. Since apparently she wasn't buried at that cemetery, I figured maybe…the way she appeared there, in the shaft… She was so strong, her emotions so…raw and intense. I don't know but I think she might be bound to that place somehow…"

Sam picked up his train thought easily.

"And since spirits are mostly bound the strongest to the places that they died at…you think she might be down there?"

Dean shrugged, scratched at the stitches behind his ear absentmindedly until Sam gently pulled his hand away.

"Beats me…but if I'd have to guess…yeah, I think I'd go with it. You know, the way I figured it, what if her husband killed her? I mean most vengeful spirits are born out of violent deaths, right? Her heart…I think he broke her heart, at least that was what she wanted to tell me…show me, whatever. Maybe he cheated on her and she found out and then he killed her. The way he acted afterwards, burying her himself, well…not actually burying her, as we now know, he probably did kill her, locked her down there and drowned her?! Or just left her to die from exposure, whatever. It must have been awful. And now she picks up men, maybe those who remind her of her husband. As soon as she realizes that they are not him, or once they reject her like I did, she kills them off the same way she's been killed. Makes them feel what she felt."

It actually made sense, even more so than when he'd pieced the story together last night when he had woken up, cold and in pain and not able to go back to sleep right away, Sam finally out cold and huddled on his bed across from Dean.

First Isabella had thought that he was James, then, when Dean had pushed her away, she had made him feel the kind of loss and betrayal that she must have felt when her own husband had locked her down there. Her hand over his heart transferring the heartache and pain she'd felt straight towards him. But it would have been too easy for him to die like that, so she'd made him feel what she had felt, had made him experience her final moments all over again.

Dean couldn't help but shudder once more at the memory.

Sam looked all worried again and Dean decided that even though all the soul-baring hadn't been half as bad as he had thought, he would have to slow it down a bit for now. Not to get Sammy all excited and overwhelmed. He might expect for Dean to keep this up and he just wasn't entirely sure that he was willing to do that.

"So what do you say, Sammy? We go dig up that shaft tonight, see if my theory is right?"

All light and sunny again, drawing a frown out of his brother at the sudden shift in mood.

"Uhm…Dean, don't know if you've noticed, but I doubt you go dig up _anything_ in the near future, let alone climb down into that hole again."

"Yeah? What makes you think that?"

"Well, gee, I don't know. Maybe because you've got some cracked ribs and a broken arm and a concussion…it might just be me but I really think that this might be a good enough reason to NOT dig up any graves any time soon…"

"Still doesn't keep me from trying…"

"Ok, well. If that doesn't, then I will. You are not going, that's a fact."

"Oh really? And who exactly is going to stop me? It wouldn't be you, would it? Because I can still take you down, you know?"

Dean's eyes piercing Sam's now, challenging, daring to prove him wrong.

"Yeah? You think so? I would really like to see you try, Dean. Come on, don't be stubborn. How are you going to get down there, first off? And then, even if you do manage that, how in hell will you swing a shovel? Stop being an idiot and face the facts here…"

Dean shifted on the gurney, his butt hurting from sitting in the same position for far too long now, leaning closer to Sam, hiding the small hiss of pain the movement prompted pretty well, or so he thought.

"Well, if we're on to facing facts now, why don't you face this one: You are not going there alone. Case closed. _I. Will. Not. Let. You._ Got it? I'll stand by and keep watch, if it makes you happy, let you do all the work, but I will be right next to you. Not matter what. Because I won't risk her getting her hands on you as well."

Dean locked determined eyes with his brother's, not willing to loose this argument. Not going to loose it, period. He was the big brother. Why couldn't Sammy just plainly accept the fact that big brother was always right? Why couldn't he see that Dean would not risk any harm being done to his baby-brother, not as long as he was still breathing, however painful it might be right now.

"Just suck it up, Sammy. You are stuck with me, no way around it. You can't choose family, right? Might as well accept it!"

Sam didn't answer and the silent battle of wills would have probably continued for quite a while longer had not the nurse entered a couple of minutes later to get Dean back down to radiology to get his arm x-rayed again. She had to step in between the two of them to get the brakes of the gurney loosened and that's when their eye-contact finally broke.

To Dean it was clear as day that he had won this argument, no doubt about it.

XxxXXXxxxXXXxxxXXXxxx

Sam knew that his brother was watching him preparing and packing for this night's showdown, as Dean liked to call it. At least Dean had resigned himself to watching though, an argument Sam had won more easily than he had thought.

Hell, he had to be in pain, had to be exhausted, too, and the way he now lay perched on his bed, propped up by some pillows, right arm covered by a cast up to over his elbow, head laid back with his eyes barely open there was no way in hell he could give Sam any crap about feeling "fine" or "peachy". Right now he didn't even seem to try, for once.

Truth was, Sam was exhausted himself. He had barely slept more than an hour or two at a time since this whole shit started and it slowly but surely was taking it's toll now. One look at his watch told him that it was still early, at least early for digging up graves that was, barely six in the afternoon. They had only gotten back to their room about an hour ago and Dean had immediately collapsed onto the bed, but hadn't slept, fought sleep with all his might, it seemed.

"Dean, you should really get some rest before we head out. I could get us some dinner, if you want?"

Dean shook his head wearily, stifling a yawn.

"Nah, still got an upset stomach from that canteen-food you got me at the hospital. Besides, I think resting is a good idea. That includes you too, Sasquatch."

"Well, it's not like you had more than a bite or two from that sandwich…"

Dean rolled his eyes towards him underneath thick lashes, head remaining as still as possible.

"As I said…it tasted funny…"

"That has never stopped you before." Sam quipped, only half-joking though. God knew Dan had some strange eating habits.

Dean _not _eating was always reason to worry, on a good day. This now…better not think about it right now.

"Besides…you said I had soup." Dean reminded him, letting his eyes drift shut for a moment before collecting enough strength again to reopen them.

"Yeah, well. A cup or two, maybe. And that was some time ago… We'll find something later, alright?" Sam finally conceded, deciding that now was not the time to press his brother.

Dean pulled another jaw-splitting yawn and Sam could feel the involuntary tug on his own jaw-muscles, the heavy droop of his eyelids. He ambled over to his own bed, slumped down on it. Still sitting, checking on his brother.

"You feeling OK? Need another pill? You know, if you're going to watch my back, I need you alert and as pain-free as possible, right?"

"No Sammy, I'm fine, really. Let's just hit the pillow for a couple of hours. I'll feel better then, promise."

Sam could practically feel pain and exhaustion radiating off his brother, but he decided that for now he'd let it pass. Once they headed out he could still bribe Dean into taking another pill to keep him focused. As contradictory as that sounded. But being in constant pain would be worse for his concentration than a simple, probably not even very strong painkiller. Once they had burned Isabella, sent her back to where she belonged, Sam would drug Dean up good, then make sure that they got a little vacation. Time to lick their wounds, rest and heal, for both of them.

Maybe head to Florida, or go see the Grand Canyon, finally. Stay in one of those cabins for a week at least and do nothing but read, watch movies and eat. As long as it would take. Until they'd get their strength back. Hell, that sounded as good as it was going to get.

Sam leaned over, pulled the blankets up higher on Dean, despite his brother's protest, settled the cast-covered arm on a pillow before slumping back down onto his own mattress, facing towards his brother.

"Night, Sammy...don't forget to wake me when we're ready to roll…" Dean slurred slightly, eyes drooping closed despite his best efforts.

"I won't…wake me when you need something."

Both hunters were asleep almost instantly.

XxxXXXxxxXXXxxxXXXxxx

Tbc

_AN: _

_Hope this chapter doesn't disappoint. So now they are back on the hunt… _

_Please drop a review to let me know what you think…you'd absolutely make my day!_


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Another fight lost.

Sam was getting really tired of this.

Where Dean got the energy and stamina from he honestly couldn't tell, but his stubborn as hell brother had actually made it back to the shaft with him, keeping up to Sam's slightly slowed pace. By the time they had reached their destination Dean had been out of breath and most definitely in pain, the lines around his eyes, between his drawn brows as clear an indication as any that he wasn't feeling well at all. But of course he hadn't backed down and in the end Sam had ended up helping Dean get down into the depths of the hole they'd only vacated some way too short days before.

Back in the car, he'd briefly considered knocking Dean unconscious, then chain him to the steering wheel or something, but of course he had done nothing the like. Even tough right know he really wished he had done it, too.

He actually couldn't believe it, didn't know how Dean did it, but somehow the stupid idgit always got his way, against Sam's better judgement. And he didn't even need the puppy dog eyes to do it.

Now, in the far too close confinements of the shaft, Dean had finally consented and sat perched up against the far side of the wall, keeping the flashlight steadily pointed towards the place Sam was digging at. Already, after only thirty minutes down here, the air seemed far too thick to Sam, the walls seemingly edging closer with every breath he took. He couldn't imagine the strain Dean had to have been under, being down here alone and injured for hours on end.

He willed his mind to stop reeling, stop thinking about the door way up high above them and what would happen if someone or something chose to close the damn hatch and lock them both back in here. They had pried open and fixed the hatch with some chains and a heavy padlock, had laid an extra thick ring of salt around the whole shaft as well but Sam doubted that those things would hold against Isabella's ghostly powers, should she decide to use them against them. Especially considering that she seemed to be strongest right in here. So far she hadn't shown, but Sam couldn't shake the feeling that she wasn't going to let them finish this undisturbed.

That would be about the first time anything went according to plan for them lately.

It was rough going, the ground packed hard, especially since the water had pressed it down even more, making the ground as hard as granite to dig up. More than once his shovel hit a large stone, send shockwaves of pain through exhausted arms and shoulders. He had started by the door, seeing the earth already disturbed there and with a sick feeling in his stomach realized that some of the gouges dug into the ground clearly were caused by fingers clawing at the ground – Dean's fingers, most likely.

He shot a look over his shoulder, checking on his brother who had been a little too quiet for his liking, but found Dean wide awake, eyes open and maybe a little too bright, his pupils dilated so far that hardly any green was still showing, the pale light of the flashlight throwing eerie shadows on his cheeks and forehead, giving the scars and bruises an almost zombie-like appearance.

"You OK back there?"

"Sure thing – just enjoying the view." Dean shot back at him, pointed the flashlight towards the hole Sam had already dug up.

"You done already? Want me to take over?"

Sam wiped the back of his hand over his forehead, brushing away sweaty bangs.

"Yeah sure. Why don't you. I'll just lean back and watch you for a while then…in your dreams!"

Dean shot a toothy grin his way, but it didn't quite reach his eyes and the strange look wouldn't leave either.

"Better hurry up then. I think she is on her way…"

Sam furrowed his brows at the remark, scrutinizing Dean. How did he know? But then, if he concentrated hard enough, he could feel a slight chill creeping into the room. Still faint and far off, but Dean was right, it didn't feel natural.

He could see Dean pick up the shotgun with his left hand, releasing the safety, balancing it precariously on his drawn up knee.

"You good to shoot with your left?"

Dean only cocked an eyebrow at that. Of course he was good – he could shoot with both hands and Sam knew it. Their dad had made sure that they practiced until they were equally good with both their left and right hand. Sam just wasn't too sure that the backlash from the weapon would feel too good on Dean's injured ribs…

Sam turned around again and resumed digging. No way to know where or how deep down she had been buried. If the door had still been accessible back then, it still was a long way to go.

"You know, I've done some more thinking here…" Dean's voice sounded hollow echoing off the walls around them and Sam couldn't suppress a slight chuckle at his choice of words.

"You sure you're good? Because with all that thinking you've been doing lately…I can't help but wonder if your head really just hurts from the concussion…"

He ducked quickly then, still not avoiding the box of matches from hitting him on the back of the head.

"You're such a blast, Sammy…really. You should do stand up comedy or something! Still care to hear what your stupid brother figured out or should I rather keep it to myself then?"

"Sure Dean, just shoot…"

"Never say that to a man with a shotgun in his hands, Sammy. Not even when it's just loaded with rock-salt… Someone just might take you up on the offer one day!"

Sam winced at the remark, keeping his face carefully averted. While he knew that Dean had not intended it, he couldn't help but think back to that one time when he actually had shot his big brother, point blank in the chest. Just a load of rock-salt, but it sure had to have hurt like hell…plus everything else that had happened back then. Well, not the time to think about this now.

"So, are you going to tell me or what?"

The slight hesitation told Sam that Dean had probably been thinking the same thing, scolding himself quietly for bringing it up again. It only took him a moment though to get back to his game.

"As I said before... I did some thinking and the way we figured, she was bound to this place here because that's where she was killed, most probably or at least buried, right? Seems like she picked her men up near that old cemetery, at least that's where you found the Impala, too. I still don't remember a thing, but she would have to be pretty strong to go there, it's still some distance away. So she snatched me, however she did that, brought me here and dumped me. But that little trip must have worn her out, must have taken up quite a bit of her energy, that's probably why she didn't show again for some time. And when she finally did, it still took her a while to get into it…she needed to touch me, draw some of my strength in order to be able to…inflict the damage she wanted to. I don't know…that's why the others were only found a week after they were taken. Again at the graveyard. It had to have used up a lot of her energy to turn on the water... Might have taken her a while to finally bring them back to where she finally left them, again close to the cemetery, close to her grave…"

His voice trailed off again and Sam, huffing from exertion but unwilling to stop, prompted Dean onward. If anything, at least it kept his brother focused on something else. As long as he kept talking at least Sam knew that he was doing fairly OK.

"So why the graveyard, then? I mean, she didn't have any connection to that place, did she? After all, she wasn't really buried there, we know that for a fact."

"I don't know for sure…but the way she talked to me at first…I think she mistook me for her husband… And the way she looked at me I don't think that she knew what he'd done to her…maybe she somehow forgot. I guess she was just confused, at first, didn't remember what had happened to her, maybe didn't even know that she was dead. She still loved him, I could feel it..."

Sam couldn't help but frown at Dean's tone of voice, the way it wavered slightly when retelling the experience, regretful almost, pitying Isabella? Man, she must have twisted his brother good.

"So you think she kept bringing the bodies to the graveyard because she was still drawn there by her husband, who used to visit her grave on a regular basis, right? You think he felt some kind of remorse over her death and that is why he came to visit so often, or was it just something that he knew would have been expected of him?"

Dean shrugged, clasping the gun tighter in his hand, eyes darting quickly around the close confinements of the shaft before settling on Sam again.

"Don't know for sure, Sammy. Could be that…I really think she's having trouble remembering. But somehow she's trying to make a statement, don't you think? Dumping these bodies close to her grave. Maybe she's trying to make people see, wants for someone to find out… I got the feeling that she yearns for someone…wants to be loved, doesn't want to be alone, down here. Cold and alone…"

Dean's eyes lost focus for a moment, as if remembering something that he would probably never share with Sam, ever. He knew his big brother too well. It took a minute at the most and Dean picked up the sentence right where he had let it go as if nothing had happened at all.

"She picks men that somehow resemble James, confuses them for him and then, when she remembers... She shows them how much she loved him, her husband I mean, then the pain she felt when he betrayed her, killed her, whatever. And then she kills them the way he killed her. Brings them back to the cemetery after so someone finds out about it…she wants to make the world see…see what he's done to her. She uses those innocent victims to state her case, kind of."

"Well…" Sam ran a hand over his forehead, leaving dirty smudges behind on sweat-stained skin. "That does make sense somehow…in a sick, twisted kind of way it makes sense. That's what a confused and angry spirit would do, right?"

"Yeah, I guess…so maybe if we just let the public know, tell everyone what a sick, cheating bastard her husband had been…maybe she'd stop killing, you know? Maybe it would give her peace and we wouldn't have to hurt her again…"

Sam stopped his digging, looking at his brother guardedly. This wasn't Dean speaking, at least not the Dean he knew.

"Stop hurting her? Dean, she's dead. She can't really be hurt anymore, not the way she's made you believe, anyway. So what are you saying? You wanna leave her bones and hope that she'll be satisfied with us making her destiny known? Dean, I really don't know what you're thinking right now, but I don't think that this is the right way to handle it. Hell, a couple of hours ago you were pretty much going to dig her up to salt and burn her yourself and suddenly you want to back out on this? What's this all about, man?"

Dean didn't answer him, apparently lost in thought again and Sam could see an unconscious ripple run through his brother's body. The strenuous digging had kept him warm but Dean most definitely would be feeling the cool of the night by now, even though he was wrapped up in both a shirt and hoodie plus a jacket on top of that.

Sam softened his voice again, leaning on the shovel to take a moment, to concentrate on his brother.

"Dean, you still with me? Tell me what you're thinking, dude. You know that this is the safest way to stop her for good, right? You still got my back on this, don't you? I need to know that I can still count on you…"

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Dean nodded his assent, shadowed eyes fixed on a point beyond Sam's shoulder.

"Yeah, sure. I'm with you Sammy. Don't worry. Just a little tired. You know you can count on me. I'm good…"

Funny, though how Dean's voice sounded anything but.

Sam kept from asking Dean if he was really alright. There was no sense in that, because his brother would most certainly not tell him how he was actually feeling anyway. So he just busied himself with digging faster, to get this over with and Dean out of here as fast as possible. They'd pack and leave, after this was over. Right after they were done they'd skip town, drive a couple of miles until they were way out of this county before finding another motel, maybe a slightly nicer one than usual, then lay low until Dean was feeling better. Dean would be back to his old, annoying self in no time, driving Sam mad again, no doubt.

Then they'd head for that vacation…

The shift in temperature was so sudden, it almost clogged up Sam's throat in mid-breath. He had just been driving the shovel into the earth once more and was momentarily halted by he temperature drop, taking maybe a second too long to react.

The shot rang out deafeningly loud in the close confinement of the walls and Sam instinctively ducked as tiny crystals of salt hit the wall way above his head and started raining down on him, fortunately not doing any harm anymore, force being taken away by hitting the wall first.

By the time he spun around Isabella was there, fully corporeal, perched atop his brother who was all but pinned against the wall in a mock imitation of a lover's embrace. Her face was only inches away from Dean's, leaning in so close Sam couldn't make out his brother's features but the painful, gasping whimpers that seemed to be emanating from his lips were enough prove that Dean wasn't enjoying this. Not one bit.

His right arm lay all but useless in his lap, the cast effectively preventing any movement, pressed protectively against his tender ribs and side while the left still had a dead grip on the shotgun, now splayed on the ground, yet he seemed to be unable to bring it up to defend himself. His leg twitched a couple of times, bracing his foot against the ground to push himself away, attempting to kick his knee into her back, to do something, anything. The hold she had on him was paralyzing and Sam knew he had to act quickly in order to keep his brother from taking any more harm than he already had.

Sam's own shotgun still lay half-covered by his duffel, safety still on, so he threw the shovel away and dropped to his knees, long arms reaching for Dean's gun which he still held tightly next to his left thigh.

As soon as Sam's fingers touched the barrel of the gun though he instinctively jerked back, the material so freezing cold it almost made the skin of his fingers stick to it. He turned around, another muffled groan drifting over to him, snatched up his earlier discarded jacket and threw the piece of clothing over the gun, then again reaching for the barrel and yanking it away and out of Dean's still desperate clutch.

Sam heard Isabella whispering something, the words not loud enough and probably not intended for him to hear, clearly aimed for Dean's ears only, but Sam thought he made out a breathed You came back before again his brother's angry groan drowned out whatever else she breathing feverishly into his ear.

Now that the hold on the gun was broken, Dean attempted to reach up, fingers slipping down her back a couple of times before getting a hold on her hair, but for all it was worth he didn't seem to be able to bring up the strength to simply pull her head away from him, couldn't force his muscles to obey the commands his brain was clearly screaming at them right now.

Sam hastily cocked the gun, being careful not to touch it directly, but it seemed that as soon as the contact with Dean was broken the cold slowly but steadily seeped away from the gun. He brought the weapon up in one swift motion, levelling it at Isabella's head. But of course, there was no way he could get a clean shot, not with Dean right behind her. There was no way he cold shoot her, period, without hurting Dean too. And that was not going to happen. He knew that her hold on his brother was fierce, but he also knew that Dean could, if push came to shove, break that hold. He'd just need a little encouragement, Dean had never been able to deny Sam anything, after all. He just had to at least try.

"Dean, down…now!" he shouted, his voice a harsh bark, so much like their father's for a moment it sent a shudder through Sam and he could see his brother instinctively reacting to his command.

Only, he might have been a tad too slow, what with his muscles stiff and frozen as they were and Sam knew the second he pulled the trigger that Dean was not going to make it in time. He wouldn't be able to clear the shot-range completely.

Sam had trained the gun at Isabella's mid-back, too afraid to aim at her head because god only knew how painful a load of rock-salt to the face would be, so he had chosen the lesser of two evils, or so he hoped.

He could see Isabella's body dissipate with an angry screech that made him want to cover his ears just a seconds before Dean hit the ground with a painful groan which quickly passed into a sputtering cough.

"Fuck, DEAN…"

Sam shuffled over to his brother's side, hefting him up by the shoulders and resting his body against his own chest. He hated abandoning the shotgun but chances were that Isabella would keep away at least for a while now so he dumped it while at the same time frantically pulling at Dean's clothes to see what kind of damage had been done while at the same time trying to hold his coughing brother steady.

Dean weakly batted his hands away though, kept him at bay while regaining his breath.

"Sam…stop…it's nothing."

Another hacking cough betrayed his words but he remained adamant.

"I hit you with a full load of rock-salt Dean, how can it be nothing?"

"Dude…layers…"

"What? Dean, now is not the time…"

Sam found his voice clogging up, with fear and frustration alike, felt like shaking some sense into his brother. Felt like holding him close till the end of days…

"No, man, I'm telling you…layers. I'm packed in so many…layers of clothing…not even a real bullet could make it through…"

Unbelieving, Sam tore at Dean's clothes, despite his brother's weak protests, his heart hammering away in his ears. But a closer look at Dean's jacket and hoodie revealed a couple of rips and tears in the fabric along the left side of his chest and side, but no blood stained the clothes and the shirt underneath even appeared to be mostly intact. Sam slumped with relieve, still holding on to his hacking brother though.

_Shit, shitshitshit…I did it again. Shot him again. How many more tries do I get before I do any real damage?_

Unconsciously Sam clutched his brother closer, as if bodily able to keep Dean from getting hurt, by him, some spirit, anyone, ever again.

"Sammy…you can let go now…"

"Sorry, man."

Sam detached himself from Dean and reloaded the shotgun with forced casualty before handing it back to his brother who took it with a slightly trembling hand. Other than that he seemed steady enough, even though his eyes had taken on that eerie glint again that send chills down Sam's spine. He knew that Dean was working hard on keeping up the appearance of calm and he chose to give him that, if just for the moment.

"You OK?"

"Yeah, sure…I think we should hurry, though. Somehow got the feeling this won't be keeping her away for too long…and next time she'll be pissed for sure…!"

A crooked grin did nothing to mask the apparent uncertainty in his eyes, couldn't betray the way he looked shaken and confused by what had just happened. He sure as hell looked freaked out by the way Isabella had him in her power whenever she was able to get a hold of him and Sam knew how this must be eating on Dean's already ruffled ego, how it must be getting to him to not only being unable to protect himself but his little brother as well.

And, truth be told, it freaked Sam out, too.

Big time.

Sam quickly turned away to pick up the shovel again, dead-set to get this over and done with as fast as possible.

Still plenty of work left to do.

Tbc

_AN:_

_Thanks again for reading and all those wonderful reviews you've dropped me so far!_

_The next chapter is practically done so if you want, I'll update soon! _

_Take care!_


	9. Chapter 9

_Here goes the next chapter..._

_For disclaimers please see chapter 1!_

Chapter 9

Dean hated feeling useless. He hated just sitting there doing nothing. And then, he had managed to mess up the one thing he was supposed to do, his one and only responsibility right now, namely watching his brother's back and keeping Isabella's ghost at bay. Had to be saved by Sammy. Again.

_Great job there, Dean. Way to go._

He didn't care to reflect on that last encounter with Isabella, his head all mixed up with those diverse emotions while of course all he wanted to do was just end this, once and for all. His head was throbbing again, the pain intensifying with every minute spent down here and he couldn't help but glance up towards the opening every other minute, just to make sure that their exit was still there, still open. The sight of the open space above him went a long way to reassure him, even though it was dark outside, it still looked much brighter now then back then, with the hatch closed, only that small rectangle of light…

He shuddered, shook his head to clear it, to push back the darkness threatening to overwhelm him once more. He was alright, everything OK, so far…or well…as close to OK as he would get. The exit still open, his brother there with him. That alone was enough to cam him down just a little.

Breathing was a bitch, especially now after Isabella's renewed efforts to freeze up his lungs and then of course his wild dive for the ground when Sam had shot her. Good thing he was wearing all these clothes, he really wasn't all too keen on adding a rock-salt shotgun wound to his many other problems just now. Sure enough, it probably wouldn't have killed him, but he could very actively remember how goddamn much it had hurt, anyway…

He watched Sam dig with renewed effort, making pretty good progress now, sweat staining his brother's dark t-shirt, dripping off his long, unruly bangs. Every once in a while Sam would shoot a glance over in his direction and Dean was always ready to give an encouraging nod and a toothy smile whenever he felt those dark, imploring eyes on him again.

Keeping up the pretence.

After about another hour of digging and both of them getting slightly more uneasy since they both figured that it could only be a matter of time now until she reappeared, Sam finally seemed to find something. He suddenly dropped the shovel, went onto his knees and started pushing and scraping at the ground with his bare fingers.

Dean couldn't suppress his curiosity, crawling forward on his knees to help his brother and get a better look.

At first, there was nothing but dirt and stones but sure enough, after some sifting, an old, yellowed bone broke through the surface, gnaw-marks staining the apparently splintered end. Dean immediately winced back, pulling in a sharp breath as if burned by the object, but Sam kept scooping the dirt away from it, revealing more and more of not only this but a whole heap of other bones in pretty much the same condition as the first one.

The air seemed to thicken with every piece Sam laid free, choking Dean, closing in around him, making him dizzy. He was about to tell Sam to stop, then, beg him to, more like it, maybe just grab him and forcefully refrain his brother from touching them anymore, when suddenly Dean's gaze fell on something reflecting the beam of his flashlight. A tiny spark in the middle of the mangled mass he could barely get himself to look at while at the same time he didn't seem to be able to tear his eyes away from. Reluctantly he reached out for it, fingers brushing away loose soil gently until he was able to pick up the delicate object laid out in front of him.

His fingers shook uncontrollably now but he still picked the frail piece of jewellery up and carefully scooped back towards the wall, resting his heaving shoulders against the cool stone wall, craving the reassurance the steady hold of the stones provided him with. He didn't trust himself to stay upright under his own steam anymore.

There in his hand lay the bracelet Isabella had been wearing, dirty and a little bent and scraped in places, but unmistakably hers.

Dean realized he must have been making a sound, some strangled gagging sound pushing up from deep inside of him that surprised even himself, but it was Sam's voice that ripped him out of his stupor.

"Dean, what is it? Are you alright?"

He felt himself nodding, but unable to answer he turned his eyes towards his brother, still clutching the jewellery in his fingers.

"Dean, come on, tell me? What is this?"

Sam reached out for him to hand over the bracelet but Dean instinctively clutched the trinket tighter, pressing it against his chest. How was it that he so badly wanted this to be over and done with and at the same time couldn't wrap his head around the fact that it would be just that in only a little while now? If he could just let it happen. As if he didn't really want it to be over, didn't want to let her go? No, sure he wanted for this to stop…only…he had felt her…felt that unconditional love and need…he knew it was all kinds of wrong and still…still it had felt right, in a way…

…a part of him wanted to jump Sammy, rip those bones out from underneath him and…yeah, do what exactly? He could always bury them, in her grave, where they belonged, after all. But would that stop her? Because Dean sure as hell was not going to risk for anyone else to go through the same thing she sent him through…would he?

He jumped at Sam's voice again, far closer this time, moving in on him.

"Dean, hey man. Come on. Snap out of it. What have you got there…let me see."

Sam sat crouched down in front of him, hand extended expectantly, brows furrowed in this characteristically worried frown of his. It took all of Dean's willpower to simply move his hand away from his chest, open his fingers to let Sam see the fragile piece of jewellery nestled in the hollow of his palm.

Sam's eyebrows shot up, then drew together in thought.

"Is it her's?"

Dean only nodded, throat still too raw and he didn't trust his own voice to not betray him so he rather kept quiet.

"Ok, so let's burn it along with her bones then. Got to make sure that nothing is holding her back. She could be bound to that thing as well…"

Sam again reached out to take the trinket from him but Dean once more pulled his arm away at the last instant, breath hitching in his throat, staring at his brother wide-eyed. He didn't understand his own actions, couldn't understand why he was doing this. Isabella had hurt him so bad, had tried to drown him, for god's sake, one of the worst kinds of deaths he could think of, and here he was, not willing, not able to send her ghost to where it rightfully belonged?

"Dean, hand it over. Now."

An edge had crept into Sam's voice, his body visibly tensing, preparing for a confrontation.

"Why don't you…we dig her up first, then I give it to you…?"

He didn't like the sound of his own voice, not one bit, the way he almost pled with his brother instead of just demanding his right to keep it. He didn't own Sam an explanation for his actions, did he?

Or maybe he did…after all.

He shook his head carefully, fighting to clear the cobwebs that had collected there and threatened to cloud his judgement, even welcomed the pain this movement caused for at least it helped him focus on something else.

"I just feel that I might need to hold on to it for just a bit longer…you know. I swear I'll give it to you as soon…as soon as we are ready to leave. You get official permission here and now to knock me out if I don't hand it over once you're ready, alright?"

An apologetic look but he knew Sam would take him up on the offer in no time, should push come to shove.

Just a little longer…a couple more minutes…

Finally, Sam consented, easing back, withdrawing from his personal space but still Dean didn't feel himself relax entirely. The pressure behind his eyes increased with every minute, every single breath he took, it seemed, his heart beating wildly in his chest.

Feeling he couldn't quite place swamped him when he absentmindedly ran the tip of his thumb over the delicate silver bracelet, feeling the tiny edges of the stones, the winding coils of the silvery strings that held them in place. He thought that he might recognize the feeling, but it didn't make any sense, he'd never before felt like this, not towards anybody…certainly not any woman he's ever met and still…

He thought he heard a voice then, whispering somewhere close to his ear and he jerked his head around, frantically searching his surroundings for any sign that she had come back.

Nothing.

One look at Sam told him that he didn't appear to have heard anything, so Dean forced himself to settle back down, to relax.

_Just an imagination of my own mind…I might go a little crazy in here…_

Then again, this whisper, a breath of cold air against his ear and he jerked up once more, again finding nothing.

This time, Sam seemed to have noticed though, looking up at him from underneath his tousled bangs, stopped laying free Isabella's remains.

"Dean, what is it? Something wrong?"

His voice was loud and hollow, compared to the desperate whisper that slowly started to fill his ears constantly now. He could feel her, practically taste her, yet she didn't seem to be strong enough to be able to come back just yet.

"Dean…come on, answer me. Are you alright?"

_NO_…he wasn't, far from it, but in all honesty, Sam didn't need to know that. Well, he did know, most certainly, but he didn't need Dean to say it out loud, right? Didn't need to add to the humiliation so he stayed still, focusing all his senses on not listening to Isabella talking to him, calling him, begging and taunting him.

So he just nodded, hoped Sam would leave it at that, would get the hint and goddamn dig faster.

_Hurry up, Sammy…I really, really need to get out of here…_

And again, Sam did seem to understand, no words needed.

XxxXXXxxxXXXxxxXXXxxx

A half hour later Isabella's remains were laid out in front of them. A pitiable heap of broken bones and teeth and scraps of fabric that had somehow managed to withstand the passage of time. Even though Sam didn't quite understand it, and Dean apparently didn't know what to make of it himself, they had collected the bones carefully and placed them on top of an old t-shirt Dean had pulled out of his duffel.

Sam couldn't help but steal worried glances over at his brother, who sat huddled in the corner during the excavation, hand clutched over Isabella's bracelet as if it was the most precious thing he ever owned, not looking at it really, but holding it close nonetheless.

The poor lighting in the room made it hard to discern Dean's features, the lowered head and long lashes casting his eyes into even deeper shadows. His breathing seemed to be a bit laboured, as if he was having a hard time getting enough air into his lungs, a small cloud of breath escaping slightly parted lips on each exhalation. He seemed to be in some kind of trance now, focusing inwards and maybe it was just a trick of the poor light or his overactive imagination but Sam could have sworn that Dean's lips were moving ever so slightly, forming unheard words, repeating them like a mantra to himself, or to someone else…?

He'd close his eyes sometimes, tightly, as if fighting off unbidden images, turned his head away like wanting to escape a touch, a sound…something.

Yet Sam knew that it wouldn't make much sense asking Dean if he was alright, his brother was way beyond reason at this point, and he certainly wasn't going to go all chick-flick on him now, of all times. Not like they got the time to do it right now, either.

Sam didn't like this, not one bit. The way his brother was apparently deteriorating right before his eyes. So yeah, this had gotten to him, a little more so than usual. No surprise really, considering the pressure the whole situation must have put on his shoulders. Sam couldn't even come close to imagining the fear and desperation his brother must have gone through during those hours he had been down here. Apart from the obvious physical strain from the cold and his injuries, confronting the ghost without any means to protect himself but then facing the ultimate threat of dying, drowning without a way out, knowing the end was coming slowly but steadily…

Damn, but he was not going to go there, not right now, anyway.

Sam packed away his stuff, and ambled over to his brother, approaching carefully as not to startle him. He picked up the discarded shotgun, holding it at the ready, just in case and kneeled down next to Dean, closing the distance between them without touching him just yet.

"Hey, dude. I'm done here…time to go."

Mossy green orbs flickered up to meet his' and he could have sworn that there was some confusion reflecting in them, as if he'd expected to see someone there and didn't know what to make of the situation. But it only took the beat of a second before the raw emotion was replaced by recognition and even relief before again closing up, guarding whatever was still lingering there from Sam's probing eyes.

For a second he just kept looking at Sam, then casting a quick glance at the sorry heap of bones still waiting in the middle of the room before focusing back onto his brother.

"Time to go, Dean. Here, let me help you get up."

He supported his brother by taking hold of his elbow and helping him get up to his feet.

Once Sam was sure his brother would be able to stand on his own he deposited his shotgun at his feet for the moment before extending his hand once again, waiting. Dean was reluctant, fingers closing more tightly over the jewellery and for a moment there Sam thought that he would actually have to take Dean up on the offer he'd made earlier and clock him one to get it. Very suddenly though Dean thrust his arm forward, practically driving his fist into Sam's chest with the force of the movement. He didn't say anything, but his eyes pled with Sam to go ahead and take it, quickly, before he could think it over and fight him over it.

Sam took hold of his brother's wrist, turning it around and carefully opening his fingers for Dean didn't seem to be able to do this simple act himself. Dean's eyes were once again downcast as if he didn't even trust himself to look at the object anymore. Sam took the bracelet from his sweaty palm, felt Dean's fingers tighten up and then relax gradually when it left his touch. He let his arm drop to his side, as if it suddenly had become too heavy, muscles shaking slightly.

Sam turned around, placed the bracelet gently between the bones on the ground. He then proceeded to pour a healthy amount of salt and lighter fluid over the whole heap, dousing it good before dropping the empty bottle on top of it, too.

"OK, we should really get going. The fumes are going to choke us in no time. I'll go up first again, then help you get up as well, alright?"

Dean nodded, still not talking, not looking anywhere but at Sam's chest, or the wall behind him, carefully avoiding his brother's eyes. Everywhere but at Isabella's remains.

"You OK to stay down here by yourself for a minute?"

"Yeah, sure…" Rough and raspy, but still working.

Sam helped Dean tie the rope securely around his shoulder, helping him tug the shotgun into the waistband of his jeans so he'd be able to use his one good hand for climbing, but in easy enough reaching-range so Dean would be able to whip it out should Isabella decide to pounce on him before he was safe. Then Sam began the strenuous ascend himself.

Once on top, the air still cool and dark in the late hours of night, he took a minute to catch his breath before leaning over the opening again, shining his flashlight towards his brother who appeared so damn small and lost in those depths it almost broke Sam's heart. He didn't look up, stood facing the wall, his back towards the impromptu funeral pyre, looking down.

"You ready?"

A faint nod was all the affirmation he got so together they got Dean out of the hole and back onto safe ground. It was hard work, Dean still not able to help much and once that was done, Dean apparently strained close to his breaking point, physically and mentally, Sam didn't loose any more time. He lighted a whole book of matches and threw it down the shaft, dropping in a second one for good measure. He stayed close to the opening long enough to make sure that indeed the fire reached the ground, lightening up Isabella's remains in an angry whoosh, before heaving the hatch closed with one last, mighty effort, then turning around to face Dean.

He caught sight of his brother, already a couple of steps away from him, trudging slowly and only a little unsteadily in the direction of the Impala.

With one last worried look towards the shaft Sam hefted his duffel over his shoulder before looking after Dean. His gaze fixed onto his brother's retreating back Sam couldn't help but wonder if indeed it was over and done with. They killed Isabella's ghost, so what now?

He didn't need to be a psychic to see that something was still not right with his brother. What if there was still some part of her left, lodged deeply inside Dean's head or heart or wherever else she might have touched him during those long, arduous hours in the hole. Nothing they could salt and burn, for sure, nothing easily exorcised, most probably, knowing his brother.

Sam shrugged on his jacket, the drying sweat in the cool night air chilling him now, before taking off in a trot to catch up with his brother.

tbc

_AN:_

_Once again I need to say thanks for all those wonderful reviews...I didn't get to reply to all of them and I'm real sorry but it doesn't mean that I don't appreciate them – far from it! I feel humbled, I certainly don't deserve all the praise, but it sure makes me feel good!_

_I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint…let's just say that it might not be all over yet ;-)_

_OK, that said, please drop me a review to let me know what you think._

_Thanks and take care!_


	10. Chapter 10

_Hi everybody…thanks for bearing with me so far! So without further ado…here goes chapter 10/Drowning:_

Chapter 10

The drive back to the motel had been silent as expected. By the time they reached their room Sam was surprised to find Dean entering and dropping down on his bed without another word. He had somehow suspected that his brother would demand that they leave, right now, and for once Sam would have been more than happy to oblige.

But he didn't, so Sam figured that maybe that was something good, too. It at least meant that his brother was actually taking it easy, giving himself time to heal, and that wasn't the worst thing, either.

When Sam returned from his shower Dean still lay on the bed as if he hadn't moved at all, his back propped against his pillow, cast-covered arm in his lap while his left one he had drawn up and draped over his eyes to shut out the already dimmed light in the room. Yet the rise and fall of his chest didn't suggest that he was asleep already and Sam figured he might as well try and get his brother to drink and eat something, take some pills too, before they could finally both rest.

And if he hadn't been absolutely certain before that something wasn't quite as alright as he would have wanted, the fact that Dean took his medication plus drained a whole cup of tea without uttering so much as one tiny complaint, even just for show, didn't even demand a cup of coffee instead, manifested Sam's fears right then and there.

He shut off the light and sat on his bed in the dark of their room, curtains drawn to keep out the light of already slowly approaching dawn, nibbling at his bottom lip. Each and every atom in his body screamed to simply ask Dean if he was alright, for all the good that would do. Not that he could ever expect an honest answer out of his brother, mind you. Still he felt the need to just get it off his chest, if just for the sake of letting Dean know that he still cared.

As if Dean had read his thoughts, his tired voice drifted over to Sam, muffled a little by the pillow or his arm his head was apparently buried in.

"I'm fine, Sammy. Quit worrying and go to sleep."

Yeah sure…when had Dean ever _not_ been alright?

XxxXXXxxxXXXxxxXXXxxx

Two hours later, three at the most… Sam couldn't really tell, his eyes still glued shut with the remains of sleep clinging to them.

God no…_why_? Just a couple of hours of sleep, that wasn't too much to ask, right? He groaned, rolled over to his side, facing the window, immediately drawing the blanket over his head to block out the blinding stab of pain the tiny sliver of sunlight that peeked through the crack in the curtain brought thundering through his skull. He felt nauseous, the pressure behind his eyes increasing tenfold within only a couple of seconds.

_Fuck._

He rolled back onto his stomach, knees drawn up underneath his body, propping himself up while his forehead stayed pressed into the mattress below. Something warm trickled down from his nose, between his lips and the unmistakable coppery taste of blood made him want to throw up even more.

Oh hell, why now, of all times? Couldn't this have waited another day or two? Just long enough for them to be back on their feet. Dean was not anywhere near well enough to go on another hunt, let alone one where the yellow-eyed demon was involved. And so far every single vision had had something to do with that bastard.

He briefly considered making his way to the bathroom, to avoid waking Dean but soon decided that it wouldn't work. Within seconds there was no thinking about getting up anymore as the blinding white light that usually accompanied each vision flashed through his head, made his eyes blind to anything that lay right before his eyes and tuned him into whatever terrible alternate reality it chose to subject him to today.

Only that today, the vision didn't transport him someplace else entirely. The scene that flashed in washed out colours before him was so familiar, it almost threw him off the bed, he was so startled.

He was in the very same room he was in right now, everything around him so much like anything he'd seen only shortly before, that there was no telling what was real and what wasn't anymore. For a moment, he was confused, eyes searching the semi-darkness for a clue as to what the vision wanted to show him, give him a clue as to when, too. A strangled sound from the other bed made him spin around suddenly. His eyes took a couple of seconds to adjust to the poor lighting but when they finally did he thought his heart might stop dead in his chest.

Within the beat of a second he wasn't in their motel-room anymore but instead back down in that shaft, or rather, Dean was. His brother lay huddled in the corner of his prison, grunting and coughing, fighting an unseen enemy but failing miserably to even lift as much as one single finger, let alone get up. A thick, steady stream of water streamed down onto his head, relentlessly drenching him, filling the shaft around him with unnatural speed.

Sam wanted to rush forward, help Dean up and get him out of there, but he couldn't move, couldn't interfere at all. He opened his mouth to yell at his brother, urge him to get the hell up. Why didn't he get up? There was nothing there to keep him immobilized like that. Dean's head came into focus now, thrashing back against the stone wall with sickening force, a barely suppressed cry of pain slipping from his lips as the back of his head repeatedly smashed into the wall behind him. His back arched violently, trying to buck off whatever kept him weighed down and Sam could see how the water kept steadily rising, already starting to seep over Dean's now clenched lips.

Sam was all but helpless, screaming in his head, punching and fighting with all his might while in reality not being able to do anything at all but watch his brother fight the fight of his life but loosing apparently.

A bright flash of light blinded Sam momentarily and as soon as he was able to push past the bright dots crowding before his eyes, Isabella was there, straddling Dean in this terrible mockery of a loving hug, sitting on top of his hips and wearing him down with supernatural strength. Her fingers were digging forcefully into the muscles of his chest, almost clawing at them, her thighs wrapped around his waist with such strength, it made moving impossible.

Sam could see his brother struggling, trying, fighting for all it was worth, the muscles in his neck cording, straining, jumping feverishly. His lips were pressed shut tightly, nostrils flaring for they were still above water. The panic, primal, naked fear that had crept into his eyes left Sam raw and aching for his brother. Still, Sam couldn't move, couldn't fucking get to Dean's side...

_He had to wake up, he just had to._ _He had to help Dean before it was too late. _

How in hell was that even possible? They had burned everything that had been Isabella, every single bone, right? Had they missed something? The smallest piece of broken bone, anything could have kept her. But they had set the whole damn shaft on fire, Sam was pretty sure that nothing could have survived the bonfire he'd unleashed there.

Unless…

Sam was condemned to watch in horror as Isabella leaned closer to Dean's face, whispering soundless words into his ear, the look of raw and pure fear in his brother's eyes tearing pieces off is heart, lodging them in his throat. Dean craned his neck as far as it would go, muscles ready to snap with the effort, working to clear the water enough to take a deep enough breath, fill his lungs with life-saving air. He only succeeded for a few precious seconds though before Isabella bent closer to him, pressing her lips onto his' in a hungry kiss, stealing what little air he had left, pressing him back under again.

Sam screamed – in his head he screamed, as he watched the water lapping over both Dean's and Isabella's bodies, watched his brother's struggles grow weaker and weaker far too quickly, his legs and arms going limb finally, giving up the hopeless fight.

"Dean, NO…!"

In a flash, he was back. Back in reality, in their morel room. Back and so disoriented from pain and nausea the disturbing pictures had evoked, he didn't know which was up and which was down anymore.

Sam practically fell off the bed in a tangle of blanket and sheets, sweating and panting, retching the meagre contents of his stomach into the plastic trash-can underneath the nightstand, not caring. It wasn't much, anyways.

Oh god…what had this been all about? This had been the second time in a couple of days now, the second time he'd had a vision that had nothing to do with yellow-eyes. At least nothing that he could make out at the moment. Sam's head was reeling, he was darn close to hyperventilating right then and there.

Dean…it was linked to Dean, that much was clear. He had to make sure his brother was alright. Get them the hell out of here and then figure out why Isabella wasn't back where she was supposed to be. He had a pretty good idea right now, but he had to make sure.

Sam pulled himself up with the help of his mattress, wiping at the blood that was already drying underneath his nose. The light in the room was still down and he couldn't withstand the urge to grab the heavy curtain and whip it back, let the early rays of morning sunlight fill the room with an almost eerie glow. He turned around then to face the other bed and stopped dead in his track.

Dean was gone.

A new bout of panic seized him then, almost knocked him back to his knees. How was that even possible? He had been there, right there, in the bed next to Dean for the past hours. Hadn't even left to go to the bathroom. Out cold to the world. Gone too far, probably? Had he been out so good he hadn't even realized his brother leaving, or being taken, more likely? Why in god's name hadn't they sealed the windows and doors with salt, anyway? Too tired to take care of business, and now this. Freaking damn great. The first lesson ever learned from their father. Too tired and beat to do their job right and now look what had come out of it.

Sam didn't think twice about what he was going to do. After everything he had seen in his vision, Dean was back in the shaft again. He had to go there and get him out – again – and he had to do it fast.

Sam didn't bother getting dressed, crossing the room in three long strides, clad only in his sweat-pants and t-shirt, no shoes on. He'd probably have gone out naked, at this point. He grabbed the keys to the Impala from the table and was about to storm out the door when he caught sight of his brother.

Dean lay wedged between his bed and the wall, so flat on his back that he had been actually invisible from Sam's earlier standpoint. But he was there alright, in the exact same position as he'd been in in Sam's vision, only that it wasn't in the shaft but right here, in their own motel room. His body was jerking convulsively, legs thrashing the slightly grimy carpet soundlessly, fighting against an unseen force, just like Sam had seen it happen.

Dean's left hand seemed to be closing around something pushing down onto his chest, apparently trying to hold on to it but his grasp was slipping time and time again. A strangled moan pressed between clenched teeth as his neck craned up, veins close to popping, the lines between his eyes like deep, bottomless craters of pain.

Then, in a flash, Isabella was there on top of him, hands on Dean's chest, thighs pressing into his sides, her hungry eyes practically devouring him. Sam now realized that Dean was indeed trying to fight her off, his hand gripping hers, trying to pry it away from his chest, where her fingers dug almost forcefully into his shirt, the skin underneath. As if she was trying to pry his heart out of his chest.

It all happened so fast, Sam barely had time to think his actions through. He dropped the car-keys, scrambled over his bed towards their weapons-duffel which they had carelessly discarded between their beds, too lazy, too sure of themselves and so they had gotten sloppy. _Way to go._ After everything they had been through, they messed this up with laziness?

Shaking hands almost dropped the bag twice before being able to liberate the shotgun, frantically checking if at least they had thought to load a new round of rock-salt. Thanking god that at least _that_ they had taken care of. He brought the weapon up while jumping onto Dean's bed, releasing the safety and pulling the trigger in one fluid motion.

This time he aimed straight at her head.

At the close range, there was no way to miss his target. Not even if he'd been the worst shot in the world.

Which he wasn't.

Isabella screamed, an infuriated screech that made Sam want to drop the gun and cover his ears but it lasted only a few seconds before her apparition disappeared. Sam was at Dean's side before she was even completely gone.

At least, his brother wasn't the lifeless heap of flesh and bone that he had seen him to be in his vision. Dean had rolled onto his side as soon as Isabella's hold on him had ceased, lay sputtering and coughing now, arms pressed to his chest and abdomen while his stomach apparently violently emptied itself of water…so much water that Sam had no idea where it was coming from. He was afraid to touch Dean, not knowing what additional damage had been done to him, but at the same time he couldn't, wouldn't _not_ get close to him. Not now.

The space between bed and wall was far too small for both brothers to fit in, not without some serious invasion of personal space, but Sam didn't care and managed to squeeze in nonetheless, grabbing Dean by the shoulders and keeping him steady on his side. Sam knew that they didn't have much time. Not with the way Isabella had been enraged, had been stronger now than she had been ever before. She so definitely was pissed as hell at them for burning her bones…

Still, he couldn't let go, not now.

Not ever.

Sam was almost certain now he knew why she was still there, though. But he needed to make sure first and foremost, that his brother was OK, that he was going to make it.

Damn it, where was all the water coming from? It seemed to be welling out of Dean's mouth in a never-ending ice cold and slightly tepid smelling cascade.

Sam could see how the strain of retching, of not being able to bring enough air to his screaming lungs brought tears to Dean's eyes, saw them slip out between tightly closed lids and he couldn't help but turn away at the sight, trying to give Dean what little privacy was left in the close proximity of their surroundings.

He lay on his left side, right arm including cast pressed with a vengeance against his stomach, bracing himself with the left against the wall. Sam could see the muscles in his forearm cording with the force with which he braced himself, marvelled at the strength still left in his brother.

Then the hand slipped off the wall and Sam found himself almost gasping at the sight, thinking that the fight had finally left his brother, that he was giving up. He should have known better, though.

Instead of bracing himself in front of him, Dean reached out to him, his little brother, wrapped his left arm around his chest to dig his fingers tightly into Sam's shirt, holding on to him, pulling him down with the force of his grip. It had to be a painful and highly uncomfortable position, but he seemed to need the contact, needed to feel Sam was there, holding on to him, being there with him.

Sam found himself mumbling words of reassurance, over and over again, the meaning not important, for whose benefit exactly he honestly couldn't tell at the moment. But it felt like the right thing to do. It was what Dean would have done, if their roles had been reversed, he was sure of it. It was how he had learned to do it. Dean being there, comforting him countless times in the past, be it through nightmares or sickness or injury. Now he was giving some of it back, at last.

How long the struggle took, Sam wasn't really able to tell later on, but eventually Dean seemed to regain the upper hand of the fight, the endless flood of water finally ceasing, giving him the chance to actually breathe again. It seemed to be painful going, dry heaves still shaking him with every other exhalation, but he was getting there.

Sam could feel the ripples of exhaustion driving through his brother's body as he drew in one stuttering breath after the other. When his body finally slumped back down, completely spent, unconscious but alive, still breathing, Sam sprang back into action. He hefted Dean's body up into his arms, and oh yeah, there would have been hell to pay if he'd been aware enough, but blessedly for this situation only Dean was out of it for now.

Sam dragged himself onto the bed, his brother's muscular body gripped tightly, pulling him up along with him. A few inches only but an action that left him huffing nonetheless.

"Man, you should really lay off the burgers…" he ground out between clenched teeth, still not giving himself time to regain his breath.

The strain of the last couple of days was wearing heavily on him as well. Worry and lack of sleep, insufficient food…that and the damn worry, the not knowing, the caring… god, he'd never been aware of just how hard it was to truly, down to the core care for somebody, attend to one's every need, help someone get trough something like this...well, he was becoming an expert at this, lately. First dad and now this…and so many more stops along the way. It was just getting way too close way too many times lately…

This must be what parents felt like, he thought, or something very close to it, anyways. This constant fear and worry that something would happen as soon as you turned your back, this utter feeling of helplessness when you knew that someone you cared for more than you cared for anything else in the world was sick or hurt or both and you did everything you could and still you didn't know if it was going to be enough in the end. This feeling of complete desperation of wanting to ease someone's pain, physically or emotionally, of watching someone you love suffer beyond imagination and still everything you could do, everything you did just didn't seem to be enough…

He thought that now, finally, he might just understand a tiny bit of what Dean had been going through during all those years, this overwhelming need to protect and shield his little brother, his life almost, from everything bad in this world.

Those last couple of day sure as hell had worn Sam down to the core, exhaustion so deep and heavy, it almost felt like the literal weight on his shoulders, his heart.

But he'd have to hold on a little longer, just a little longer. It was nothing compared to the years his brother had put up with it, after all.

Sam settled Dean on the mattress, careful to avoid aggravating the injuries he knew about. Once Dean was arranged more or less comfortably Sam went about the last task he had to take care of before they'd finally find peace, or something close to it…for as long as that would last in the world of the Winchesters.

Dean was still wearing the clothes he had set out in the night before, jeans and shirt plus a thick hoodie. He'd only managed to discard the jacket he'd been wearing, other than that he'd dropped off to sleep the way he'd been.

Sam started going through Dean's pockets meticulously, turning them inside out, checking on the back-pockets of his jeans as well. Again, he was almost thankful that Dean didn't seem to take notice of his actions. Even though all he really wanted to hear right now was a snipe remark, feel that cocky raised-eyebrow-gaze upon him. That, plus he felt the honest to god need to punch his brother, square in the abs, when he finally found what he'd been looking for.

Sure enough, nestled right into the inner pocket of his sweatshirt, he found Isabella's bracelet. Sam held it with the tips of his fingers for a few seconds, eyes darting from the dirty piece of jewellery to his brother's drawn features, pinched in pain even in unconsciousness, and back. His emotions coiling inside his stomach like a snake, anywhere between wanting to punch him and hug his dumb as hell stupid brother close. Whatever Isabella had done to his brother that made him feel so strongly about this, about her, he knew he would end it right here and now. No coming back for his brother, not anymore.

Dean must have snatched the bracelet up when Sam had been climbing up, had left him alone for merely a couple of minutes. Must have dug it out from between her bones to keep it, to have something to remember her by. Why ever he'd want to do that remained a mystery to Sam but he knew better than to judge his brother for it. He knew what ghosts could do to your mind, how they could play with your head, make you all messed up inside and out. Dean was strong, so much stronger than most every man Sam knew. She must have been pretty powerful to get her claws around his brother's neck the way she had.

"Man, Dean, what have you gotten yourself into this time?" he whispered softly and with one last look at his brother he got up from the bed and strode purposefully into the bathroom. He knew he had to be quick now, couldn't risk for her to come back again.

No metallic trashcan anywhere around this cheap dump so Sam didn't waste a second thought about it and closed the drain of the washbasin, dropped the trinket in. One quick trip back to the room and he came back with a ridiculously large container of salt and an equally large bottle of lighter fluid. He spent all of it on the jewellery, practically drowning the trinket in the two substances, not taking any risks anymore.

It might have been his imagination only, but he thought he heard an angry hiss float through the room when the bracelet caught fire, the finely woven silver first blacking, then melting in no time. Once he was sure that the thing was indeed burning, nothing to be left behind this time, he took the two steps back into the room, checking on Dean. He still lay on his bed, still alone, at least. He was writhing though, his brows knitted in obvious discomfort, a thick sheen of sweat covering his face and throat.

Sam could do nothing but stand by and wait, wait until the damn bracelet was nothing but a dark spot of soot on the off-white porcelain of the sink. He tried to wash the last remains of the cursed jewellery down the drain then, scrubbing at the stain until his fingers hurt but was not entirely successful. And who cared, really.

They would be off and gone in no time. As soon as he'd be able to rouse his brother they'd be on the road to wherever, as long as they were gone. He didn't even care to get some rest himself. Didn't care if Dean wanted to stay, either. He'd pack him up in the car, take him away. A couple of towns at least, states more preferably. He'd make sure they'd get some time off, for sure this time.

God, he was exhausted. But no rest for the wicked – that certainly was true for the Winchesters, too.

A quick once-over revealed that indeed there was an additional gash on the back of Dean's head and Sam idly wondered how many more hits on the head his brother could take before earning some serious brain damage. A skull as hard as concrete…that was one of the features Dean Winchester came with. Bang him around all you wanted, he'd always come back around somehow.

His chest would be sore as hell, maybe some additional cracked ribs, one might even be broken, but nothing really he could do about that. He'd just need to make sure Dean didn't go running around any time soon. He probably wouldn't feel up to it anyways. Not even his stupid as hell brother could be _that _stupid, surely.

Sam briefly considered stitching the gash up later, when Dean would be awake again. He hated to think that he'd rob him of some hard-earned sleep, or unconsciousness, that and the fact that he didn't really care much for a knife slitting his throat when he startled Dean in his sleep, but then he opted to do it right now, anyway.

At least if his brother managed to stay unconscious long enough, he was spared the pain of it a little longer.

Cleaning the gash and putting carefully placed stitches into Dean's scalp, Sam was surprised when his brother didn't even react to any of his administrations. At first it worried him, but a quick check showed Dean's pulse to be fairly strong and steady – as well as it could be under the circumstances. He just really seemed to be out of it for good now. He had every damn right to be so too.

Once Sam had patched Dean back up and was sure that he was is no immediate danger of bailing out on him in the near future, he busied himself packing their stuff, threw the duffels into the trunk, keeping the shotgun at his side, just in case. He wasn't going to make that mistake ever again. Laid some salt on front of the door and windows, too as an additional precaution.

He wasn't going to carry his brother out of here, he'd leave him that last shred of dignity and let him walk out on his own two legs. Sam would be there to help him, support him, catch him if he fell, but they'd walk out of here, side by side. As always.

Until then he'd stand watch. No more taking unnecessary risks. Not with Dean's still fragile condition. He himself could sleep plenty later. For days on end, if need be.

He could hardly wait.

Tbc

_Ok…what do you think… I'm a bit emotional at the moment, so it might have colored off on this chapter… %-) _

_Hope you still liked it and please, please let me know what you think!_

_So there's another two chapters coming up …hope you'll stay with me for the ride!_

_Thanks so much for all the support so far._

_Love!_


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

„What happened?"

Dean sat propped up against the headboard of his bed, slightly confused eyes darting about the room, checking every corner for danger lurking there and somehow Sam suspected that his brother wasn't all that oblivious to what had happened as he wanted to let on.

"She came back…wanted her bracelet back…" _…and you_, but he didn't say that out loud.

"I shot her with rock salt, then burned the bracelet."

Those were the basics, mightily compacted, but the facts nonetheless.

Dean didn't look directly at him and while some of that distraught look on his face might still have been due to the rough handling he'd just received, Sam knew that that was not the main part of it. His brother sure felt guilty as hell, Sam knew that look on his face better than he would have liked. Seen it far too many times by now and it just made him angry to the point of almost snapping at him, it was so damn unfair…

"Did she hurt you?" Dean asked, his voice rough and a little hoarse, but actually, truly worried.

_Stupid dwarf._ How could Dean ask _him_ if he was alright when _he_ had been the one knocked around and nearly choked to death less than two hours ago? And then before that…

"No, Dean. She didn't touch me. Concentrated pretty hard on you though. How are you feeling?"

Keeping his voice calm and patient when inside Sam felt anything but.

"I should really get a tattoo…"

Dean's voice was calm but a little distant and for a second Sam feared that something was still wrong with his brother…something more than the obvious, anyways.

Sam leaned forward from where he was sitting on the edge of his own bed, watching Dean intently.

"You should what? What are you talking about? I asked you how you are feeling, Dean."

Again a little forced patience, but considering all his brother had been through the past couple of days, Sam thought he should at least try to pull it off for Dean's benefit.

"Yeah…should get a tattoo…right across my forehead. Reading: _Dude, I'm fine._ Might safe me a lot of breath having to keep saying it and you a whole bunch of time asking…"

Sam leaned back again, working hard on keeping his face straight. He alternated between wanting to punch Dean and laugh out loud…his brother seemed to bring those emotions out in him a lot lately. Always had, come to think of it. He didn't need to be asking to tell that Dean did not feel fine – far from it, but he also knew his brother well enough to see that while he was shaken and weak and confused by the past events, he wasn't in any immediate danger right now. Now that it was over…

At least he was able to talk, breathe, move just a bit without crying out in pain, without breaking out in a cold sweat. Most of the time.

Dean sure as hell was hurting, the small lines of pain around his eyes, the strong set of his jaw whenever he did as much as take a slightly deeper breath betraying his words loud and clear. But as sure as the fact that he was everything but alright, he wouldn't say anything about it. As usual.

"So, you head hurts? What about your throat?"

Sam had noticed Dean swallowing and gagging a little just now, deciding that despite his best efforts, he just couldn't stop fussing. No need to mention the ribs and his arm. Those injuries were too obvious to even try to hide and Sam saw no need even mentioning them. Not that there was anything much he could do about that…

Dean frowned disapprovingly, but didn't tell him off, for once.

"Head hurts, throat's raw…but I'll live, I guess… nothing new much, just kinda the improved version now, you know, like _supersize me_…"

He grinned a little, a mock version of his usual sunny self before turning his gaze away again, but Sam appreciated the effort.

"So she's gone?"

Dean didn't look at him asking it, keeping his eyes carefully shadowed by his lashes, a motion he excelled at, but Sam thought he knew which look was playing across his big brother's features right now and he really didn't care to see it live and in colour anymore. Too many times already, especially since their father's death.

"Yeah, gone for good now, Dean. Do you feel different at all?"

Dean shrugged, ran his left hand over his face, through the slight stubble on his chin and cheeks, his short hair.

"I guess…it does feel like…she's not here…not inside my head anymore, kind of…"

The tone of his voice confused Sam and he couldn't help but pull back a little, scrunching his brows together. Isabella maybe wasn't inside his head as a ghost, but most definitely she hadn't let him go completely. That would take some time and Sam knew it. But for now all that counted was that Dean was safe and they could get out of here as soon as possible.

"I wanted to call out…you know, wake you up. But she wouldn't let me…thought you would never get your ass in gear there…"

"Yeah well…seems like you did wake me somehow… I had a vision again. Saw you on the floor with her all over you. Only you weren't in the room but down the shaft again… Don't know how or why, but when I woke up I found you on the floor and everything was just like in the vision, only the surroundings were different. It was almost like that vision before, that night out at the mansion, when I found you. I guess you did call out to me – only not with your actual voice but through your mind or something. You woke me up so I would have the chance to safe you."

"So what, you're saying I'm some kind of psychic-freak as well? Now I don't think that's true, you know. Must have been something else…"

There it was again, that slightly defensive tone, the one that had hurt Sam the most, through all his struggle with this topic he'd had himself. The thought that his brother might actually consider him a freak. For real. Would walk out of him because of it.

Which was ridiculous considering who had the history of walking out on whom… Dean would never, ever leave him…not intentionally.

And if there was one person he didn't need to be afraid of leaving him, of thinking bad about him, it would be Dean. The one person that would stick with him, no matter what. Which was sick and twisted and all kinds of unfair and wrong, sure, but still it made him fell…safe. And loved. As safe as he'd ever be. And that was all he needed to know.

"I don't know, Dean. I'm telling you, it was just like a vision, only…different. It made me see…almost like seeing through your eyes, you know? Like _you _made me see…"

Dean lifted a hand to stop him, rubbed his temples as if fighting off a headache.

"You said you saw me in that shaft again…her on top of me?"

Sam nodded, leaned closer again.

"Was she…kind of…pressing me down, kissing me…?"

Still not looking directly at Sam, his eyes only flicking over under lowered lids occasionally and then only for less than a second.

"Yeah, pretty much…and afterwards, when she was gone…you were choking up water…lots of it, like, gallons. Almost like back then, you know, down in the shaft. Only that this time you weren't wet, no actual water anywhere around."

Dean nodded, finally looked over at Sam and the doubt and worry edged into his eyes chucked a piece off Sam's heart.

"Why, what is it, Dean?"

It seemed to take a lot out of him to admit to it, but finally Dean spoke, locking eyes with his brother the whole time as if it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

"I was down there, you know. I mean, again. I woke up and I thought she'd gotten me and brought me back… She was whispering stuff to me, telling me… She knew, knew that James had cheated on her. But she loved him, was willing to forgive him even, if he'd just come back to her. It worked for a couple of weeks, but then she caught him with another woman again. They had a fight and he knocked her out. When she woke up again…she was down in that shaft, didn't know how she'd gotten there, all alone and it was dark and cold…"

Dean shivered involuntarily, pulled his injured arm closer.

"He just left her there… Came back a couple of days later. When he found out that she was still alive…he…he opened that pipe up there, filled the shaft… He killed her, Sam…in cold blood, drowned her slowly…all alone… God she was so scared…"

Dean's voice kind of broke at the last word and he tried to cover it with a cough, apparently hoping that his diversion would work, but Sam could see through this far too easily. And he could see that Dean knew it, too.

Dean cleared his throat, went on.

"She told me that she was scared…didn't want to be alone anymore. That she would make me stay with her. She was kneeling over me, pressing me down, kissing me and all. Then the water started coming again…"

His breath hitched at the memory and Sam automatically reached out, grabbed Dean's shoulder to ground him.

He couldn't even come close to imagining what Dean must have gone through, the fear of drowning, the water. Experiencing all of that once was bad enough but having to go through it again…

Sure enough, Dean started shaking a little, a faint ripple of taunt muscle underneath his shirt, travelling towards the surface from his innermost core and he scrunched his eyes shut as if to fend of memories, images, feelings…

Sam gripped Dean's other shoulder, carful to avoid the lacerations he knew to be there, buried underneath gauze and fabric, holding his brother level, trying to will him to focus back on him, to not slip off again.

"You're out now…"

"I know…"

"No, Dean, look at me…listen to me… You are out now. Look at me, feel that…"

He put a hand on Dean's neck to touch skin, pulling him towards him until their foreheads almost touched…almost. Twisting bundles of tensed muscles underneath clammy skin rolling against Sam's palm, made him grip a little harder. Not caring how that would look or what Dean might think about it. Knowing that physical contact was the only way to make Dean believe...

Coming back seemed to be a fight in itself, not an easy snapping back into reality. Nothing even remotely easy from the look on Dean's face, the ripples of exertion that travelled through him. As much as Sam wanted to say something, anything, he knew that the best way to handle this right now was to say nothing at all and just let Dean figure it out by himself. Just let him figure out that he was safe…as safe as Sam could keep him, that was. It used to be enough for Dean to know that.

Now was no exception.

It might have taken minutes or hours, Sam couldn't have cared less. Because in the end, Dean was back, the panic receded to a dull throbbing ache in the back of his burning eyes. And what made it even better was the fact that now he was not only looking straight at Sam, he was hanging onto him, visually clinging to him.

"You're out…" Sam mumbled again, displaying a calmness that he didn't really feel.

"I know." And this time, he meant it.

A little reluctantly, Sam broke the contact, staying a little closer than necessary, maybe, watching Dean straightening himself, mentally at least.

"So…my vision, it was just like what…you've just described…" Sam said carefully.

Giving Dean a window to pull himself together again. Knowing it would mean more to his brother than anything else he could have said at the moment.

Dean nodded, knowing. A small smile, maybe, Sam couldn't be entirely sure. But it was the thought that counted.

Sam knew that his tactic of diversion had worked when Dean cast his eyes downward again, seemingly checking on a spot on his cast before focusing on a spot somewhere a little ways off to the side. And while it felt good to know that he was back, back here with him and not lost in dream or panic or whatever again, it still hurt. Hurt Sam to know that, in order to keep up the pretence, his brother needed to shut him out. Made him wonder, too, why the pretence was even necessary.

There was another question he'd never get an answer to, most likely.

"Yeah… It's just… How is it possible, Sam? What you saw in your vision, how could you…? It was what I saw, what I felt…what she made me feel, I guess. How could I, what, transfer that to you? I'm not some kind of freak now too, am I? We gotta call each other Jennifer Love and Patricia from now on?"

Sam smiled at that but didn't take the bait.

"Beats me. I mean, there have been some cases of people in extreme situations kind of developing supernatural powers. And it works best with people having a close relationship with each other… just think about me moving that chest away from the door when I had that vision of you being shot by Max… I guess, we do qualify as pretty close…and me having some sort of psychic abilities didn't hurt any, either. You said it yourself, you tried to call out to me but couldn't, but somehow you did manage…"

Dean still looked a little doubtful, but Sam couldn't offer anything more of an explanation than that.

"So you think that's going to be a regular thing now? You seeing through my eyes and all? Because then I really need to be careful, you know. Wouldn't want for you to witness the wrong things…"

Sam smiled, appreciating his brother's way of diffusing difficult situations with humour and smugness, all of a sudden. Truth be told, he himself didn't quite know how to handle the situation. It was kind of scary, come to think of it, could come in handy, granted, but still… And somehow it did make him proud that Dean would call on him for help in a life and death situation. Not that he had ever doubted that his brother trusted him with his life but still…talk about a boost in confidence. And damn did it feel good.

"You know, you shouldn't worry about it too much. It was probably a one-time thing only, or, rather, a two-time-ting. And besides, not the worst gift to pick up, right? We might be able to use it to our advantage some day, who knows…?"

Again Dean nodded, then leaned his head back, his eyes heavy-lidded, almost drifting closed, exhaustion written all over his features.

"Might work on the ladies, too, you know…telling them my brother is watching us and all…some might find that kind of exciting…"

"Yeah…you wish!"

"Maybe you're right...and we'll handle this…somehow."

"Yeah, we will. Don't worry about it. We'll figure this out."

Dean nodded, eyes suddenly droopy and he fought to drag heavy lids open, blinking a couple of times before giving up the fight.

"I think…I'll just go back to sleep for a little bit, alright..?"

The words already slurred and sluggish, and Sam resigned himself to the fact that they'd stay here a little longer still. His brother needed the rest, it wasn't fair to drag him off just yet. Besides, Isabella was gone, so no need for haste. He'd give Dean another couple of hours before getting him into the Impala and as far away as possible. He'd use the time to do some research, try to find them some place to stay until they were ready to hunt again.

Sam helped Dean scoot down on the mattress again, ignoring the small hisses of pain as he stuffed the pillow behind his head a little and brushing the latest head-wound in the process, adjusting the blankets around him carefully.

"Thanks, grandma…tucked me in nice and warm…"

Dean whistled the first tune of some lullaby before drifting off, which made Sam smile painfully, remembering his brother humming that same song to him when he was little and Dean had tucked him in.

Remembering as if it was yesterday.

Remembering it as if it had been a lifetime ago.

Back when things had still seemed so easy to him. Only that even back then easy had never been a part of it. At least not for Dean. But he'd somehow managed to not make his little brother feel that. Now that was just about the greatest gift Sam could ever have been given.

"Ok, Dean. Just rest, I'll be right here."

"Yeah…I know…"

"Just call when you need something…"

Now this suddenly had a whole other meaning to it as well…

This time the smile tucking at Dean's lips was an honest one. He was asleep before Sam had even finished the sentence.

xxxXXXxxxXXXxxxXXXxxx

_AN:_

_Things __I learned when writing fanfiction:_

_1) I'm so far from being the only freak out there ;-)_

_2) I still feel nervous like a schoolgirl whenever posting a new chapter and that will never change – who needs fingernails anyway???_

_3)I used to think that other peoples opinions about what I write don't matter to me, but they actually do…__ I get all warm and fuzzy inside whenever I read one of you wonderful and kind reviews, even though I know I don't deserve even half of them!_

_**4) Whenever I think that I might just have a certain number of chapters left to write…don't say it out loud, respectively, don't write it down…because things hardly ever work out as planned!**_

_That said – especially pointing out point 4…I might not wrap this up in just one more chapter after all…I got this new idea and I think it will take maybe two more from here on…but taking my own advice to heart I will not make any 100% predictions anymore!_

_So, probably two more, I'm almost pretty sure, like, you know, 99,9% sure, that is ;-)_

_So thanks a heap for reading and reviewing and I hope you enjoyed this chapter and keep enjoying the chapters to come!_

_Take care_


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

It really felt like they'd been on the road for days on end.

Dean was uncomfortable and hurting and tired, but he knew that Sam must have been feeling at least as bad as he was. Probably even worse. No, definitely worse. Well, maybe minus the hurting part, but everything else he could see right there, written all over his little brother's drawn and exhausted features.

Sam shifted for the umpteenth time now, rearranging his huge and lanky frame in the driver's seat as best as he could, rubbing at tired, heavy-bagged eyes to keep them open and focused. The heat was turned up, to an actually comfortable level for Dean, but he knew Sam must have been hot, he had donned his shirt some hours ago during their last pit stop, drove only clad in a t-shirt now and still he seemed to be sweating a bit. Yet Dean knew Sam didn't dare open the window to let some fresh air in, even just a crack, to keep the temperature in the car up for his brother's sake.

Dean still seemed to have a hard time getting truly warm.

The older Winchester smiled to himself, drew his jacket a little tighter around himself before clumsily fumbling with the window's crank handle, having to twist his body to reach it with his left hand, lowering the pane a bit. He couldn't quite suppress the soft groan that escaped from deep inside his throat at the movement, bit back and swallowed down just a second too late.

Immediately Sam was fully alert again, straightening himself in the seat, shooting a worried glance over at him. Nothing like the opportunity to fuss and fuss some more over his big brother to get the kid to focus again. Dean barely suppressed an exaggerated eye-roll at the thought.

"What is it Dean? You want me to stop? You gonna be sick? Need something for the pain?"

The very sincere look of worry tugged at Dean's heart, yet he couldn't help but smile at his little brother's rapid-fire questioning and lifted his hands, well, his left one anyway, in mock surrender.

"Chill, Sammy. Just letting some fresh air in before you fall asleep at the wheel…wouldn't want you to wreck my baby!"

Sam pouted at that, shot him a slightly annoyed look.

"You care about that car more than you do about me or even yourself. Don't you think that's kind of…odd?"

Dean didn't need to think about the answer for more than a second.

"Jealous much, Sammy? I mean, come on. She can't protect herself. She's completely at her driver's mercy. And right now I don't think _I_ want to be at your mercy anymore. You look like you might drop any minute… Besides…she's _way_ prettier than you!"

Dean watched Sam rub his hand over his face again, ruffling his tousled hair, shaking his head slightly. But from the look on his face he could see that his little brother knew how accurate the statement had been, even delivered with this slight touch of disarming humour Dean used to get his point across without coming right out in the open.

"She's a car, Dean…"

"And your point is…?"

Another shake of the head, lips twitching slightly before settling on the serious expression again.

"We still have a way to go, Dean. I'll be alright. We can rest once we get there…or rather – I can rest then. You should get some sleep now. It will still be a couple of hours until we get there and you really need to get all the rest you can get."

Dean huffed, slightly annoyed and yet just a bit proud at the persistence Sammy put up in order to spare him.

"OK, while were at it…again…might I ask, where exactly _there_ is? You keep making a big secret out of this, but I would really like to know what to prepare for, you know? Should I get dressed up or something, put on some makeup? Because my pallor still is a bit off and I wouldn't want to stand out at the party…"

Sam gave him a scrutinizing close look then, eyes so intensely trained on Dean that he shifted unconsciously away from his brother, couldn't keep his face quite as straight as he'd intended.

"Eyes on the road, Sammy…" He finally quipped, his own eyes darting between his brother and the windshield.

Sam looked away again, but the smirk that lit up his face was unmistakable.

"Now that you mention it…you do look a bit roughed up. So maybe that party at the playboy mansion would not be going too well for you…"

"Oh ha-ha, Sammy, you are hilarious. And by the way, chicks dig scars, so I'd probably score way higher than you. Not that would be anything unusual…so you need not worry about me, little bro!"

"Yeah, you wish…"

Dean settled back again, tried to find the most comfortable position for his aching body to rest in. It was hard going. There was hardly a place left on his head that wasn't covered in either gauze and stitches or just plain angry bruises, which made resting his head on any surface available darn hard to start with. And as if that wasn't enough, his chest still felt like held in an iron grip by some freaking giant, squeezing with all his might whenever Dean decided that shifting his position would make him more comfortable right now. At least his arm was more or less steady now, the cast plus a sling Sam had insisted on making for him keeping it as still as possible and while the angry throbbing and stabbing still shot through the limb on a steady interval the pain meds took the worst edge off for now. It had to make do for the moment.

Still he thought that he just might feel a tad more comfortable in a warm, soft bed right now, spread out flat so breathing wouldn't bother him all that much, watching some game or a movie, sleeping. He loved his car, he truly did, and most of the time he felt most at home when driving her or at least riding in her, no matter where to, but right now he really just yearned for some chance to lay back, give his body time to heal, stop moving…just for a little while.

Being on the road was the only life he knew, true, but there were these rare times when he wished that, just for a little while, he'd be allowed the luxury of coming _home_ again. A memory so far off and long gone that he hardly remembered the feeling at all. Dropping his jacket and shoes upon coming through the door, slumping down on _his _sofa, turning on _his _TV, drinking a beer out of _his _fridge. Sleeping in his own bed. Maybe having some nice girl lying next to him, one whose name he'd remember in the morning, who he actually _knew.._.maybe even loved…

Once upon a time he wouldn't have traded this life on the road for anything. Lately, he wasn't so sure anymore.

The only thing still holding him together, really, was right here, next to him, driving the Impala. He'd feel at home wherever Sam was. Them being together as brothers, partners, friends. That was all he thought he ever needed, even more so since his dad... Maybe, with his little brother's help, he'd get through this, after all.

_They_ would get through this…

Dean again shifted in his seat, rotating his body towards his brother, taking in a sharp breath when his rips protested the change in posture ferociously.

Sam's eyes shot over to him, the typical worry-crease instantly appearing between his eyebrows, lips pinched in a thin line. Dean could see the question in his brother's eyes as clear as if he'd screamed it at him, a question he was oh so used to answering by now.

"I'm fine, Sam. Really. I just…I'm just tired." He volunteered the only answer he would be willing to give.

The only acceptable answer, as close to the truth as he'd ever get.

He shot Sam a lopsided smile, closed his eyes and rested his head against the back of the bench-seat, trying to ease out his breathing. A not at all uncomfortable silence settled between the brothers again and Dean felt himself relax, muscles growing heavy and warm. Yet there was something still nagging him and he didn't think he'd be able to fully relax without getting this out of the way, out of his mind.

Better get it out, then, over and done with. A bit of weight off his chest.

"I'm sorry, Sam…"

Dean kept his eyes closed, his body as heavy as possible. Still he could feel Sam's eyes shift towards him, could feel his brother's gaze burn into him so fiercely it was almost physically noticeable.

"Sammy, the road…"

Dean almost jumped out of his skin, tearing his eyes open and bracing himself on the seat with his good arm when suddenly the Impala skidded to a stop as Sam pulled it over to the shoulder of the road, cranked the gear into park and rotated his body around so he could face his older brother.

"OK, so, let's take a break. But you know, maybe we should have looked for a motel first. Or a diner at least…you look like you could need a nice, strong, black coffee…"

Dean tried to make light of the situation, take some of the pressure off, already regretting that he'd started this. Maybe it wasn't the time, after all. He should have known that Sam would jump at the opportunity for him to spill his heart out.

_Stupid. _

Still, some things needed to be talked. And he really did feel the need to explain himself. Strange feeling, that. Maybe that still was Isabella talking, still her inside his head, messing him up. It figured…spend some time with a woman and she sure as hell was gonna mess with your head like that, get you all emotional and…_mushy_. That had to be it.

"Come again?"

Sam's voice was soft but imploring. No doubt had he understood perfectly the first time around. Why was it that he always needed to say things over and over again Dean asked himself ruefully. Why couldn't anybody just freaking listen to him the first time around?

"Nothing, Sammy. Just forget I said anything."

"Dean…"

"Sam…" Mimicking his little brother's "_I'm so freaking annoyed" _tone to the spot.

A silent battle of wills ensued, only that this time Sam seemed to win far too easily. Dean finally looked away, wedged his body into the space between door and seat, facing his brother yet still leaving some space to turn away when the need arose.

"It's nothing…really. Just said that I'm sorry, that's all."

"OK, I don't really get it. What is it you're sorry for, Dean?"

"I don't know…just…everything, you know. For acting the way I did, back at the… For taking that bracelet with me. I mean, come on, I should have known, hell, for all I remember, I did know, I just couldn't stop myself from taking it."

Dean flicked a quick glance over at Sam before averting his eyes again, fingers meticulously picking some loose threads at a tear in his jeans.

Sam unconsciously chewed on his bottom lip before answering in his softest, _taming-a-wild-animal-voice_.

"You know that you can't blame yourself for that, right? I mean come on, she messed with your head, man. Spirits can do that, confuse you and all…look at what she did with all the other guys she's gotten her hands on."

"Yeah, but I should have been stronger. I mean, with what we do, what we know… I knew who she was and still…couldn't fight her off. I knew it was all kinds of wrong, but still…you should have seen her, man. The need and love... She really thought she loved me, you know? I don't understand why I couldn't … I wanted to, I really did, but somehow… Wasn't strong enough, Sammy."

He kept his eyes cast downward on purpose, let his eyes be shadowed by his lashes so Sam wouldn't be able to read him quite as clearly. A tactic he'd learned long ago, one he was able to pull off without much effort anymore. Worked quite well with the ladies, too. That looking at them from underneath the lashes-thing…quite the catch usually. Made them swoon on the spot. Dead on.

Only, Sam didn't swoon. Not even a manly _passing out _or anything.

_Figured._

Bad enough that his voice gave away so much already, the last thing his little brother needed to see was the self-doubt engraved in his mind, spilling out for the world to see through his eyes.

Jeez, how he hated this weakness…the once part of his body he hadn't learned to have complete control over…that would betray him time and time again.

And as if that wasn't bad enough, there still was this nagging feeling that he had failed her, had failed Isabella, however sick and twisted that was. The way she'd looked at him…had made him feel loved and needed… Had failed Sam, too, hadn't been able to keep this away from him, be strong for him.

"Dean, come on, don't do that to yourself, not again."

Dean drew his brows together at that remark, but Sam wouldn't let him interrupt.

"You can't keep blaming yourself for everything that goes wrong. You fought her, did the best you could. You are only human too, believe it or not. There is only so much you can do, hunter or not. The odds were clearly stacked against you, but still you survived, right? You got out of there in more or less one piece, that's all that counts."

"Yeah, right. Just wasn't entirely my own doing…if you wouldn't have come, I'd still be down there, rotting away…"

An involuntary shiver ran through him before he could suppress it.

"And your point is? I saved your ass, big deal. Not the first time and probably not the last one, either. It's not like you've never saved my butt ever before. That's why we are such an amazing team, you know."

Sammy's attempt at humour was touching and not ineffective, too. Dean raised an eyebrow the way only he could – as a kid Sammy had tried in vain to copy his brother's motion but had failed time and time again.

"Sam and Dean Winchester, the dynamic duo!" Dean huffed happily.

"Yeah…what a blast!"

Sam actually laughed at that, the mood lightening considerably even when their amusement had all but subsided and they were back to sitting in silence. Still not off the hook, though, Dean could feel it.

"You'd be Robin, though, boy wonder and all…you do know that, right?" Dean said seriously.

A raised finger was all the answer he got to that and Dean again smiled happily.

Another minute or two of silence before Sam unconsciously cleared his throat again and Dean knew that he was so not getting off the easy way here.

"Dean, just promise me…don't take this personally, alright? You got out of there. You fought her off, held on until I came. That's more than most people would have accomplished! You are the strongest person I know…the most stubborn too…"

Ah hell, soul-sharing time. Dean feverishly wished that he'd be able to get up and pace, anything to put a little distance between him and his brother, keep his walls in place. He wasn't so sure he'd be able to in the close proximity of the Impala.

"Don't forget dad…"

Dean's voice actually broke at that. Amazing, how after all this time he still couldn't talk about their father without almost choking up.

Sam kept his eyes steadily on him, though, not looking away this time.

"Yeah, Dean. I didn't forget…still meant what I said."

OK, this was turning into something completely different now. Dean couldn't help but stare at Sam wide-eyed before he needed to force himself to look away so Sam wouldn't see…

What could he possibly say to that? _Thank you?_ Well, that didn't even begin to cover it. How could Sam still have this kind of faith in him, after everything? He hadn't really proven to be very trustworthy of late, had he? Hell, he had practically lied to his own brother in order to hold on to some stupid trinket he'd gotten off some freaking ghost chick who had wanted to kill him. And she hadn't even been his freaking type… If that didn't prove how damn weak he really was, he didn't know what else would.

Dean wrecked his brain as to how to get out of this…he could hardly walk away, go take a shower or something, the way he'd usually handle an awkward situation. Cracking a joke somehow didn't seem fit, either. And he didn't really trust his own voice not to betray him when speaking up just now, so he remained quiet for a while longer.

Sam had finally averted his gaze as well, looking at a particularly interesting spot on his right thigh, apparently. The eerie quiet in the car stretched into minutes until finally Dean cleared his throat to draw Sam's attention to him again.

"OK, now that the whole soul-baring has officially reached an awkward level…I probably should tell you thanks…you know, for getting me out and warming me up and everything…"

Sam nodded, a small smile playing across his lips. Dean knew that Sam understood what he really wanted to say, though …knew that it really meant thanks as well for what had been said earlier.

"Ok, well…you're welcome. You know…"

"Yeah Sammy, I know. And thanks for not making a big deal out of it… You'd certainly have some pretty impressive bargaining chips there, from what I remember…" Better not think about what else he might not remember now.

To that, Sam only smiled, raising his eyebrows as if seriously considering it.

Well, Dean had to hand it to the kid, he did show some freaking greatness there. Dean wasn't all too sure if he'd been able to hold back on some opportunity like that himself.

"Now, how about we get back on the road. Go to wherever you want to take us? I really think I could use some sleep in a decent bed soon – you know, without being strangled by some lovely ghostly lady…"

Sam again smiled, held his eyes a bit longer before shifting back around to start the car and pull her back onto the road.

Dean studied his brother's profile from underneath half-closed lids for a while, finding a few more lines of worry and weariness in Sam's otherwise boyish features. Hunting had done that to him, and watching out for his older brother, accepting a destiny still unknown to him, to them. Dean knew all of it, but other than that there was also something else there, some new kind of determination, so much more mature than when they'd taken to the road again together. Definitely a whole different Sam than the one that had left his brother and father to go off to school.

And damn was Dean proud of the man he'd become.

Dean found himself smiling as his heavy eyelids drooped shut repeatedly, still fighting it, though. He didn't want to let go just now, just when he was beginning to relax, to feel better, wanted to savour that feeling a little longer while he could still appreciate it.

"Go to sleep, Dean. I'll wake you once we're there…"

"And you won't tell me…"

"No, I won't. You'll find out soon enough. Get some rest. Let me take care of you for once. I've got everything under control."

"Yeah, I know that…" Dean mumbled before he finally allowed his tired eyes to slip shut.

XxxXXXxxxXXXxxxXXXxxx

_AN:_

_Yeah, I know. Dean's always falling asleep at the end of my chapters…hope you forgive me for that. It's just an imagery I love…_

_So, hope this here hasn't been too emo or anything, but I just figured there were still things left to be said…I'm a sucker for chick flick moments…and this here gives me the opportunity ;-)_

_So, next chapter's definitely going to be the last one now…no more brilliant ideas coming up, rest assured! _

_Also, thanks for the wonderful reviews and kind words, you guys rock, in honest! _

_Going to work on the last chapter now…can't believe It'll be over soon… *sniff*_

_Till then – as always: take care and don't be afraid to leave a review, I won't blame you ;-)_


	13. Chapter 13

_Sorry this took so long…my internet gave out on me and it took my brother on law almost a week to get it running again._

_So, I guess…here it goes: the final chapter…everything else left to be said at the end – if you like!_

Chapter 13 / Epilogue

Another two hours of driving and Sam was all but spent and more than ready to call it a day. He carefully manoeuvred the Impala around a corner, slowing down enough to not jostle Dean too much with the movement. Finally, after about fifteen minutes of cruising the city, he finally found the hotel he'd been looking for.

He pulled the Impala into the parking lot and killed the engine, staying in the car for another minute, watching Dean, who hadn't stirred. Usually the cutting of his car's engine would sure enough rouse him from the deepest slumber but now he just seemed to be too out of it. It worried Sam to no end, seeing his brother's slumped form wedged in what just had to be an uncomfortable position against the passenger door, his temple resting against the wadded up hood of his sweater against the cool glass of the window.

Sam barely resisted the urge to reach over and feel Dean's forehead for a fever. Now that the hypothermia had been taken care of he knew that he'd have to make sure that none of his other injuries would get infected and knock him straight in the other direction of an unhealthy temperature. Surely his body had gone through enough over the past days, no need to add another strain to it just now.

At least now they'd have some time to rest and recupe. The weather was a lot better, definitely warmer here, too. He idly wondered how long he'd be able to keep Dean down, though, without actually tying him up. As out of it as he seemed right now, Sam knew how uneasy and restive Dean could get when being forced to lay low for a while. He knew that his physical incompetence would only serve for him to push himself even harder.

Dean shifted in sleep, brows drawing together in some sort of distress, lips pressed tight while his arm unconsciously snaked more closely around his chest. After a few seconds he seemed to have settled back down, though, a slight hitch in his breathing every now and then the only sign that he was not just sleeping peacefully.

His face still looked a mess, with now 3 sets of stitches, the split lip and some bruising around the eyes on his otherwise still too pale skin. With those long lashes laying gently against his cheeks he looked so damn young, vulnerable and almost innocent, as innocent as Dean could look, anyways, that Sam couldn't help but wonder what Dean would be like if their lives had turned out differently.

Funny, of all the times Sam had thought about his own life changing, being "normal", he had somehow never imagined Dean's as anything else but this. Sure, they'd talked about it, or he had, more to the point, but still…Dean and _normal, _or better even,_ innocent_ just somehow didn't seem to match. Somehow Dean had always managed to get around the topic of the normal life they should be leading, by all means, had accepted his fate, had embraced it. Well, he'd never been given much of a choice. It had always been: _watch out for your brother_ or _make sure he eats properly_, _change his diapers, teach him how to lace his boots, how to hold a gun properly, how to wield a knife, make sure he lays the salt lines properly _or something like that.

It wasn't fair, Sam knew that much, and he couldn't help but wonder if he'd have accepted this fate as easily and unquestioningly as Dean had.

Were they really that different?

Hell yeah, he'd probably have complained and fretted…unfortunately Sam knew that much about himself. Dean had been driven by his love and devotion to his family, his brother and father. He'd learned what it felt like to loose family so damn early, learned the meaning and importance of family sticking close and staying safe. Together they were safe. And since there had been no one else tackling that project, he'd taken it upon himself to ensure that they would indeed be together, at least him and his little brother and take care of their dad as best as he could.

And that Sam was eternally grateful for. He couldn't imagine what his life, their lives would have been like without Dean caring the way he did, always had. Maybe he hadn't always shown Dean, not the way he really felt about it, but somehow he hoped that his brother knew, anyway. He hoped that Dean was able to see through the little fights, the harsh words spoken and the ultimate act of him leaving to go to school and realize that he hadn't done it because Sam didn't care… because he didn't love his brother and even his father.

Because Sam did, with all his heart. More than anything. But telling him, in mere words, didn't seem enough somehow. Words were too easily said without meaning them, they both had found out the hard way, more than once. So all Sam could do was show him, or at least try to every day.

With Dean it looked so easy, everything he did or said somehow made Sam feel loved and cared for – even though his brother drove him crazy and to the brink of violence at times.

Sam smiled affectionately before pulling himself out of his reverie, hastily scribbling a note on a gas-station-receipt, leaving it on the dashboard in front of his brother. He didn't want to risk Dean panicking when waking up and finding his little brother gone. Didn't want to ruin the surprise either.

Then he sneaked out as quietly as possible, silently cursing the car for its creaking doors. OK, so it _was_ a classic car and everything, he still didn't get it why Dean couldn't just oil the damn hinges every once in a while.

Sam winced, leaning down to peer in through the window. He really hoped that Dean hadn't woken, he'd much rather get everything settled before presenting his brother with the end-product of his efforts.

Fortunately a quick check showed Dean still to be asleep so Sam quickly took off.

xxxXXXxxxXXXxxxXXXxxx

"Ok, Sammy, time to spill it. Where are we?"

Dean craned his neck as far as it would go in the close confinements of the Impala's front seat, which wasn't all that much, to be honest, trying to make out any distinguishing landmarks he could make a guess from. His eyes were still heavy from sleep and even though he'd just slept more or less deeply for the past couple of hours, he didn't feel all that much better. Of course, he wasn't going to tell his brother that, so he tried for his best _annoyed_-look, drawing his eyebrows up and scrutinizing Sam, who sat, smiling madly like a Cheshire cat, arms folded in front of his chest.

"What is it with you and the secrets, lately? You will need to tell me eventually, right? Besides, from the look of this hotel, it's far too expensive for us to afford…it has to be another job then?"

Dean tried to keep his face even and his voice expectant. That's what Sam would expect to see and hear, anyways. He would expect him to jump on the opportunity of a new hunt, right?

Only, Dean really didn't feel up to it, not now. Maybe in a day or two, but till then he'd really prefer to do nothing but sleep and maybe eat, if his stomach decided that it'd hold down the food, that was. But he couldn't let Sammy down, couldn't show him how weak he really felt. He had to be strong for both their sakes.

"Nah, Dean. No job, not for a while. I thought we'd just, you know, take a go at that vacation we've been talking about."

Sam looked so damn pleased with himself that Dean couldn't help but ban the sharp protest that had been about to spill from his lips. He chose to shoot him a surprised look instead. Now the kid actually started fidgeting and there was this strange twinkle in his eyes that made Dean suspect something else was going on. He just needed to figure out if it was something bad or good, he'd choose his plan of action according to the outcome, then.

"OK, so again…where are we? And while you're at it…why and for how long? "

Again this complacent smile from Sam and Dean felt the sudden urge to grab him and shake that smile off his face…but not really…if he'd just get this the hell over with.

"Well…I thought after everything that has happened lately…we do deserve a couple of days to rewind, get ourselves back together, you know? So I figured we should treat ourselves to a nicer hotel for once, a little bit of luxury and all…"

"Ok…so I guess now is not the time to remind you that we can't really afford this…"

Dean made a sweeping gesture with his left hand – in the wrong direction, actually, but Sam would get the picture.

"That from the master of credit card fraud." Sam rolled his eyes at him.

Alright, so he might have a point there, still… They usually didn't use the credit cards for their own personal entertainment, only for _the job_. Not that they ever did much for themselves, anyway.

"Ok…so what are we going to do on this vacation of yours…?"

Dean was careful not to look directly at Sam anymore. Because truth was, he did think that this was a damn good idea and he really should have hugged Sammy, at least, to thank him for pushing him in the right direction because, sure enough, he would have never been able to admit it out loud, certainly wouldn't have taken the necessary steps to get this going. Yet another reason he needed his brother around…to keep himself in check, kind of.

"Of ours', Dean. It's our vacation, so we'll do whatever we want. I mean, anything besides hunting, apparently. But there are some conditions…!"

"Oh, hell, I knew there had to be a catch."

Dean smirked, but could barely contain his curiosity. What the hell had Sam planned?

"Yeah, Dean. There always is. First off, we're in Memphis right now."

At that both of Dean's eyebrows shot up.

"Memphis, Tennessee? As in The King, Graceland and all that?"

"That's the one."

Alright…not a bad start. Yet something was still up, and Dean was burning to find out what it was.

"OK, so about that catch you were talking about…"

"Yeah, about that…first off I'll tell you that I've got another surprise planned out for you."

Again the eyebrows, plus an awkward smile. Dean really wasn't all that sure that Sam's surprise would be something he'd be too happy about.

"Better be a good surprise, Sammy. Don't know if I can deal with a nasty one right about now. I'm still real fragile, you know…"

_That's the spirit. Play your cards, Dean, make Sam feel guilty._

Sam grinned openly at him now. Oh yes, Dean could definitely see how much fun his brother was having on his behalf right about now.

"To get the surprise you've got to fulfil the following conditions: you lay low for the next 5 days. No hunting, no running around looking for trouble. You stay in bed and watch TV, we order room-service and maybe in two or three days, once you feel up to it we might go out and look at some sights, eat at nice restaurants, do the touristy thing. Did I mention that we've got a room with a jacuzzi, by the way?"

Sam looked like a four-year-old, all fidgety and excited and definitely enjoying this way too much. Ready to burst, too. Maybe not the time to mention that Dean wouldn't get anywhere near the damn jacuzzi for sure…

"Well, as nice and tempting as all of this sounds, us two strolling hand in hand along Beale street and all that, it better be a _real _nice surprise you've got planned for me because otherwise I won't stick to your plan, Sammy boy."

In reality, Dean wasn't even that opposed to going along with it so far. Maybe five whole days were a little far fetched. He knew himself. As much as he felt spent and beat right now, he knew that within a couple of days he'd feel restless again. As soon as the worst of the pain and weariness had subsided and he had slept for about forty-eight hours straight, he'd get restless, would need to find something to do, something to hunt. He wasn't very good at killing time, at having nothing to do.

But maybe, just maybe, they'd actually have fun. There ought to be some bars and cool places to see. He'd never admit it to Sam, but some sightseeing might be nice too. When hunting with his dad, he'd sometimes done some tours by himself, without dad knowing of course, had gone to see some things his father would have had no appreciation for. And while he usually made fun of his baby-brother for being geeky when wanting to go look at some monument or amble through some long abandoned fort or castle, he actually even enjoyed it most of the time. A little. Maybe.

But being who he was, he couldn't let what to him felt like a little weakness show, especially not in front of the brother he needed to keep up the pretence for. Sammy needed him to be strong, to be invincible. He needed to be up to par in case…in case what his dad had asked of him, back at the hospital did come true…

Dean shook himself out of his despairing thoughts, flicking eyes up to his brother's again, forcing a smile onto his lips.

"So, you gonna tell me or what?"

Letting a little bit of that curiosity show now. Sam deserved it…or so he hoped.

"Next Sunday, there's this big festival, just outside of town. Metallica is supposed to come…"

Pausing for effect, cunning bastard that he was.

Dean thought he could actually feel his jaw drop.

"Stop fucking teasing me, Sam. This is so not fun. I'm still real fragile, you know."

"I would never, ever dare to play you with something like this, Dean. I cherish my oh so young life far too much. A two-day festival. Some rock-bands, which I don't remember all the names of, but I got the information saved on the laptop so you can look it up later. I got us two tickets. They are reserved for us, so if you stick to the plan, behave yourself, we are ready to roll just five days from now."

Dean couldn't help himself, he stared at his brother with eyes as wide as saucers and he knew from the look on Sam's face that this was the reaction his brother had been hoping for.

"You've _got_ to be kidding me."

"As I said before – no kidding you with something like this. I had some time to do research while you were still out of it after Isabella…after her final attack. I found this by chance and I just figured…"

Dean shook his head in disbelief. And he'd be damned if he didn't just feel such an amazing surge of affection towards his brother, he had to forcefully keep himself from just blurting it right out in the open.

"You're serious…"

Not a question but a statement, and he could hear his voice crack suspiciously.

"Dead serious. So, what do you say? You up for the challenge? Because if you are, I'd be more than ready to check in and get some rest."

Dean just nodded, not trusting his voice to hold on to his game face. Sam mimicked his movement, still smiling contentedly, slapping him lightly on the thigh before untangling his freakishly long legs to get out of the Impala. Dean stayed a bit longer, still caught up in his amazement, while Sam fetched their duffels out of the trunk and slung them over his shoulder.

Dean decided that now would be a good time to get a grip and drag himself out of the car before Sam got the idea to bodily pull him out of there.

That or take back that promise he'd just given him.

His whole body ached, arm throbbing fiercely, chest tight and constricted and he felt slightly dizzy once he managed to get out of the car to lean against the closed door for support. Sam stood by and waited patiently, pointedly not looking at him to give him the time and space he needed, and for that Dean was more than just a little grateful.

With Sam, being hurt or sick always felt a little easier than it had with dad. With him, Dean had always felt like he'd let him down somehow, disapoint him by not being on top of his game. Even though he knew that it wasn't true. And while he still felt this unstoppable urge to be strong for his brother, to be the big brother he was supposed to be, had been trained to be all his life, he still knew that, if push came to shove, like right now, he'd be able to ease off, just a little bit. That he could allow himself to be, well, not weak but rather, not completely up to it, like maybe just 99% every once in a while. Because he knew that Sam was a grown man now. That fact was kind of hard to miss and while he'd always stay his baby brother, no matter how freakishly tall he was he was perfectly capable of taking care of himself. At least up to a certain point.

And maybe he was just as capable of taking care of his big brother too, when things got bad.

Not that he'd planned on letting something like this right now happen again anytime soon…

But he could trust Sam to have his back, the past days had proven that as impressively as anything. Dean didn't really like the fact of Sam being the one in charge, being the one to look out for him, but he knew that he would be able to, and that alone was enough.

It only took a minute or maybe two before his body had adjusted itself to the new, upright position and when he felt it safe to attempt to stand and walk without the support of either the car or his brother, not wanting to do a face plant right in front of a big, kind of fancy hotel, he pushed away from the car to follow Sam slowly but steadily towards the hotel's entrance.

It really didn't get much better than this now, did it? Well, maybe despite the hurting part…but even that paled in comparison to everything else.

Almost everything he could ever ask for he got right there. And now that he was looking forward to that promised bed, he'd even let Sam have first shot at the shower. He wasn't all too keen on getting anywhere close to water in the near future, anyway. The kid looked as if he really needed to clean up, too, started smelling a little ripe there…

Plus, he had about all the time in the world.

Another smile suddenly lit up his bruised face.

"Hey Sammy, about that dynamic duo scenario we talked about earlier…"

Sam slowed down his pace, loping alongside Dean now, waiting for him to continue.

"I had a dream about that…and man I gotta tell you…"

Dean snorted out a chuckle.

"…you look ridiculous in tights."

"Aw, shut up dude."

Sam threw his head back and laughed out loud.

And wasn't that just the damn best sound Dean had heard in a long time.

No, it really didn't get much better than this…

**The end**

_End notes:_

_I know this might have been kind of lame and amazingly cheesy but I wanted to let this smooth out a little, not just end it, you know. Plus, I need a happy ending right now, hope you'll be able to forgive me!_

_I know that there were a lot of requests for the boys to go to Bobby to regroup, and my original ideal would have been just that, believe it or not. But as I progressed with the story I just felt that this should be something for just the two of them, them being comfortable with each other, enjoying each other's company… It's probably sired by what was going to happen in the next season…so, hope that makes sense and you are not too disappointed. _

_Other than that…what can I say really…this has been an amazing ride, honestly. I feel totally drained and kind of sad for this to end… and at the same time I feel glad that I was able to finish it in a way that makes me happy…this story has been with me for quite a while, I kind of got attached to it, I guess, and I actually am proud of it!!! ;-)_

_I always worry that I get my appreciation for the whole show across, that my English is sufficient for this, that I keep the boys in character and not let the story drift off too much. Also, I just love stories that keep a good balance between seriousness and the brotherly banter…I somehow doubt I achieved that completely but I tried real hard here, so please have mercy!_

_Other than that… I got a couple of ideas for other storie__s that need to be straightened out first…I started one that develops nicely so far! I hope to welcome some of you back to that one, if I ever dare upload it!_

_Anyway, thank you all sooooo much for all the wonderful support and the amazing reviews, even though I know I honestly deserve not even half of them. _

_This is to all of you who commented on almost every single chapter, to those who tapped the story as their favourite, or me as their favourite author…you seriously blow me away!_

_As always - I'd love to know what you think about this chapter in particular or the story as a whole!_

_Thanks again…you guys rock!_

_Take care!_


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